Rules of Being a Dragon
by bandbandx3
Summary: Kiwi learns about friendship, loss, and life in DCI's first all female corp. Please review.
1. Discovery

"Explain this to me one more time."

It was 3 o'clock on a Thursday in late November. I was standing in the band room, while Emily, my best friend, was trying very hard to explain something to me that I was not comprehending. At all.

"Okay," she said, inpatients creeping into her voice, "Do you remember the name Beth Browning?"

I thought for a moment. "Oh yea," I said finally, "she use to be the music director for the-"

"Corp you just got rejected from!" Em said, a little too happily.

"Thanks for reminding me," I said. "You know, Blue Devils would have been fine." I was still bitter about it.

"Well, anyhow, she left drum corps two years ago because she was going to have a baby,"

"Okay…"

"And she's decided to return to drum corps this year!" Em said this like she had won the lottery.

"Great. She's going back to the Blue Devils which, as you were so kind to point out earlier, I got rejected from. Now I have to go. I'm about to be late for work." I turned to leave.

"No, WAIT!" Em said, "That's just the point. She's _not_ going back to the Blue Devils. She's starting her own corp."

"We've been over this," I told Em. By now, I was completely annoyed and about to be late to work. "Blue Devils or nothing. I'm really not interested in another corp. Now, leave. I have to go to work."

"Just look at them!" Em pleaded.

"What's so great about them?" As much as I loved Emmy, she was really getting on my nerves.

"First," Em said very dramatically, "they're stationed out of Boston. Which, correct me if I wrong, is the city which your dream school is in?"

"Yes, that's true. Great. Anything else?"

"Yes"

Darn.

"Beth wants it to be DCI's first all female corp."

"Great," I said. I had quit listening to Em at this point. I was more worried about the fact that I was late to work. "Can I please go to work?"

"You should check it out." Em said.

"If I say I'll google it, will you let me go?"

"Yes," Em said, I satisfied smile creeping across her face.

"Okay, I will. Now, good-bye." I said, as I left the band room at about 90 miles and hour.

Little did I know how much what Em had just told me would change my life.


	2. Curiosity

I crashed into the bookstore at 3:43, thirteen minutes after my shift started.

"I'm so sorry," I told Clara, the owner's daughter, "My friend- "

"It's fine," she told me, "As you can see, we have the usual Thursday rush." There were maybe two people there, "You're on the back register."

I worked at Books Unlimited, a tiny bookstore in the middle of the worlds oddest strip mall. The bookstore was located between a fabric store and a bakery, where Em works. During band season, we tended to work the same hours (because they're the only hours we had free). Unfortunately since band had ended, she worked Friday through Sunday, while I worked Monday through Thursday. I really couldn't complain. I made money that most teenagers could only dream of.

I sat down, pulled out my audition packet and flipped to the page that had the word cymbals at the top. Winter drumline auditions were in less than a week and I was far from ready. In the back of my mind I was pretty sure it didn't matter. I had been on the line for three years, and played cymbals two of them. I really doubted that Rob, the drumline director, was going to give up my spot. But still, I figured I should practice. That was, if I did drumline at all. The jury was still out on that one.

Marching band (referred to as simplify as "fall" for those who did both marching band and winter drumline) that year had gone well. We ended the season with a seventh place finish and Grand Nationals. I was extremely happy. The first three years of marching band I had marched trumpet with some of the greatest guys ever. I had also been fortunate enough to spend my next three winter seasons with another great group of guys. At the end of my junior year I had decided that I would finish out fall of my senior year with the trumpets, and winter of my senior year with the Blue Devils, my favorite corp. But that all changed before senior year even began. First I had left the trumpet section to go stand on a podium and wave my hands around like an idiot. While I enjoyed being a drum major, I really missed marching. The second thing that changed was I didn't make Blue Devils.

I was a Blue Devils addict. I adored the Blue Devils. I had wanted to march for them since I was a freshman. I had even changed my college plan to be able to march for them. However, the same weekend that the Blue Devils held auditions, I had a sinus infection. Needless to say, my auditions went horribly, and I didn't make it. I was pissed. Not at the fact that I didn't make it, but at the fact I assumed that I would. I had gotten so cocky that I hadn't bothered to think of a back up plan. I had given up drumline and even changed my college plans so I could march with them. I hadn't even considered anything else.

As of the moment, I had no idea what I going to do this winter or next year for college. I had already decided that I wasn't interested in another corp. So by default, I was doing winter drumline. College was a bigger problem. I had already applied for early admission at UCLA, but in all honesty I really didn't want to go there. I really wanted to go to Boston University. I liked everything about the school, except that it was three thousand miles away from the Blue Devils. As strange as it may sound, I was praying that I got rejected from UCLA.

I began to screw around on the computer. For some obscure, unknown reason the computers we used to ring up customers had internet. It was a mystery to everyone who worked there. All ten of us who worked in the one room bookstore felt that playing on the computer was more important than the other meaningless tasks like, say, stocking shelves. I had no idea how on earth this place ever managed to stay open, let alone turn over a profit.

I made my way to DCI's homepage, and then managed to find the homepage of the corp that Em had been so anxious to tell me about earlier that afternoon. They called themselves the Dragons, and yes, they were DCI's first all female corp. They're show actually looked kind of interesting. "The many moods of jazz." Kind of like the Smuckers slogan (I wonder how they felt about that.) You could tell that Beth Browning had worked for the Blue Devils once upon a time. I had to admit, even though I had sworn of drum corps, I was intrigued. I took a look at the audition dates. Now I saw why Em wanted me to look at them. They were holding their "Midwest" audition in two weeks at a high school about an hour away. Rather convenient. And the audition material wasn't too challenging. By no means was it a walk in the park, but the third trumpet part looked manageable.

It looked like I might not have sworn of drum corps after all.


	3. Auditions

It was two weeks later and I was in my car on my way to the auditions for the Dragons. Of course, Em was ecstatic when I told her. My parents, unfortunately, were not as enthusiastic.

"But honey, what about UCLA?" were the first words out of my mother's mouth when I told her about the corp.

"I don't know," I said, "I haven't been accepted yet. I don't think we should worry about it yet."

"If you bail out of early acceptance, we have to pay for room and board," my dad said.

"I know."

"Honey, that's two thousand dollars."

Darn. I had forgotten about that.

"Well," I said, "why don't we cross that bridge when, and if we come to it."

After a little while, my parents gave in. I was set.

I turned left into the parking lot of the school. I wasn't expecting many people to be there. In my four years of marching band, there had only been ten girls in the brass section. Total. Out of the ten I was the only one who had chosen to do corp. And out of our entire band, Em and I were the only two girls in our band that had chosen to go on to corp. I expected there to be very little interest. One glance at the parking lot proved me wrong. There were cars in ever spot, and they were already starting to park on the grass. Apparently, there was interest.

I scoured the parking lot, and found a parking spot between to huge SUVs. I was nearly an hour early, but the field was fairly full. There were at least 300 girls there. However, based on the number of flags in the air, it looked like 200 of the girls were trying out for the guard. Still, that meant that there were 100 girls that were trying out for the hornline and drumline. That was 90 more than I expected.

I entered into the stadium and went to the table marked "sign in." The line was fairly long, so I pulled out my audition packet. The lyrical part was cake, I knew I would do fine on that. The technical part was my worry. Unless everything went perfectly, I would probably completely screw it up. Hopefully, they would be so impressed with my lyrical piece that they would over look my technical performance. Who was I kidding?

"Last minute jitters?" a voice asked behind.

"Something like that," I said, my fingers taping out the pattern for the millionth time.

"Don't worry. I think we all have them." Even though I wasn't facing her, I could hear her tapping out some random exercise on her binder.

"Something tells me you're a drummer," I said, finally turning to look at her. Much to my surprise, she wasn't much older than I was.

"Yep. What do you get when you take the first r out of drummer?"

I thought for a minute.

"Dummer!" I said finally.

We both laughed hysterically. Whether it was from nerves or because the joke was actually funny, I wasn't quite sure.

"I'm Nicole," she said sticking her hand out.

"I'm Catlin. But most people call me Kiwi."

"Next!" the guy running the check-in table called.

I handed the guy my stack of paper and he intern handed me a sticker with a number on it.

"Sticker goes on your right. The sooner you memorize your number the better," he said. "Hornline and drumline are on side one, guard side two. Good luck."

I meandered over two the left side of the field and started to unpack my stuff. We had been lucky. Today was beautiful. There was not a cloud in the December sky. I was about freezing; a rarity for early December in Ohio. It was actually warm enough that I didn't need my huge letter jacket. I was rather excited. I looked at my watch. It was almost time for the audition.

As if they had read my mind, a woman with short red hair and bright green eyes appeared on the podium. No one had to tell me that that was Beth Browning.

"Good afternoon," she said, her voice friendly but serious.

"Good afternoon," all 400 of that had shown up chimed in.

"Now, I know some of you have traveled a very long way to get her and have a very long drive ahead if you to get home. I will try to make this quick. Today you have chosen to audition for DCI's first all female corp. I will tell you this has been a long time coming. Those auditioning for the hornline and drumline will be split into two blocks: odds will be in block A, and will start on the field with our visual instructor Janice, and then move inside for the musical auditions. Evens, block B, will start inside with the musical auditions and then come outside. If you are auditioning for drumline, may I remind you that today you are simply competing for a spot. Instrumentation will be decided at the mini-camp after Christmas. Hornline, you are auditioning for a spot as well as a part today. Guard, you are going to go with our guard instructor Kathryn and do something completely different. So, ignore everything I just said.

"You are not going to find out whether or not you made it today. You should receive a letter in the mail that says whether you have been accepted, rejected, or we feel you need to audition again. However, some drumline may be accepted on the spot and some guard may be rejected on the spot. I'm sorry, ladies trying out for guard, you won't know if you made it or not until January. There are simply too many of you.

"All right, everyone let's get to it. Be your best today and I hope that you will all prove to be just as talented as the other girls we've seen."

I was number 555, so I was staying on the field. I meandered over to the fifty, where the visual instructor that Beth had introduced as Janice, was standing. She was short was olive skin, dark hair, and fiery brown eyes. She looked like she might be Italian.

"Okay girls, grab a quick stretch and then line up on the side one end zone. I'm going to tell you, you're in for a long hour."

There was a collective groan from everyone on the field. We were all in over our head and we hadn't made it in the corp yet.

Marching wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. It was a series of forward and backward marching at a variety of step sizes. It was demanding, but I had been through worse. What was really bad were the people walking around with clipboards, muttering under their breaths, scribbling notes, look at us like were subject under their microscopes (come to think of, that's what we pretty much were.) It made us all nervous. Janice hadn't let us out until three minutes after we were suppose to be inside the school. It was a highly unpleasant sprint to try to get there on time.

We crashed through the doors of the school five minutes after we were suppose to be there and preying that no one would care.

Beth was standing there waiting for us.

Crap.

"I won't ask," Bath said, "but the order is on that door. First one is up in five minutes."

Well, that would do. So long as I didn't go for a while.

I looked at the list. I was fifth.

Arg. This was not working out.

I pulled out my horn and tried to warm up and catch my breath at the same time. I sounded like a drowning elephant. I started to freak out. None of this was going well.

"457!"

I was next. I gave up. I figured whatever happens, would happened. So I just sat for those five grueling minutes, waiting for my doom to be announced.

"555!"

Fabulous.

I meandered into the room, music in one hand, trumpet in the other. I placed on the music on the stand. I exhaled.

"Hi," Beth said.

"Hi," I said in a two inch voice.

"You are… Melody?"

"Yes, but every one calls me Catlin," I responded.

"That's my daughter's name."

Okay, that couldn't hurt, could it?

"Start whenever you're ready."

Damn.

"Do you want the lyrical or the technical piece first?"

"Either one," she said.

I lifted the horn to my lips.

The haunting melody filled the room. Every note hung for just the right amount of time. It was probably the best I had played in months. I was rather proud. The technical piece didn't sound half bad. I messed up twice, but I was actually happy with it.

"Very nice," Beth said.

Wow, I was shocked. It was a good, but I didn't think it was _that _good.

"Tell me Catlin, why didn't you try out for the lead part?"

Crap. I was hoping that I could avoid this question. Why did it matter to her what part I tried out for?

"Well, um, well…" I decided to just come out with it, "I can't."

"What do you mean by 'can't'?"

"Anything above a G sounds like someone strangling a cat."

At least she laughed at this.

"You didn't get a physical," she commented, looking through my papers that I had turned in earlier that day.

Was I suppose to?

"Don't worry. Many of the other girls forgot to get one too," she said.

Well, that was relief.

"Well, Catlin, that will be all."

I thanked her and began to walk out the door.

"Catlin," she said, not even looking up from her papers.

"Yes?"

"I know no one gets accepted or rejected today, but all members have to have physicals on file before the mini-camp in January. I suggest you go get a physical."

I turned and looked at her.

"You play well Catlin," she said, looking up from her papers.

I stood there for a moment, absolutely stunned.

I managed to pull myself together, thank her, and walk out.

"How'd it go?" asked one of the girls sitting on the floor, half looking at me, half looking at her music.

"It went… it went… well."

I put all my stuff in my car, and meandered down to the field. There was suppose to be a short wrap up meeting fifteen minutes and then we would all get to leave. I was looking forward to going home. While today had been good, I was exhausted.

I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that, as long as I hadn't imagined it, I had pretty much been accepted on the spot. I wasn't use to that. I was never the first one they picked for anything. I usually had to get called back, had to go through a couple more auditions, and then wait for the directors to realize that they really did need a strong person to play third trumpet before I got accepted. Directors didn't want trumpet player who didn't have the range but could play well. They wanted players with the range. It was rather depressing.

By now I could hear Janice calling out commands on the field. Apparently she was using Nicole, the girl who had been behind me in line, as an example for something. I watched Nicole move forward and back with a perfect touch and go. She would probably make the corp on marching alone.

When I entered on to the field, Janice had already let the girls that were marching go. The guard had returned, and now we were all milling around, waiting for Beth to show up.

"Hey!" Nicole said coming up behind me, "How'd it go?"

"Pretty well, surprisingly," I said, "how did it go for you?"

"It went alright," she said.

Everyone went silent. Beth had ascended to the podium.

"Well, girls, this ends our audition process for the Dragons. I have been extremely pleased with everything I have seen here today. You all did a great job. I am really excited to see how this corp is going to shape up. I know we will be seeing some of you at the mini-camps after Christmas. There will be a practice schedule sent in the mail to those of you that do make it. Or, if you can't wait that long, you can go look it up online. Hopefully, it will be up today.

"Well that's all girls. I hope to be seeing some of you again very soon."

We all dispersed. I was very happy to be going home.

"Hey, Kiwi, wait!" I turned around. It was Nicole.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked.

"Are you from around her?"

"Yea, I live about an hour south of here. I'm on my way home."

Her face fell.

"What about you?" I asked.

"No, I'm from South Carolina. My mom and I are staying in a hotel until tomorrow."

"Well, I'm not a huge rush," I said, even though it was a partial lie, "there's a place up the street with pretty good barbeque. We sometimes go there if we have band competitions here. You want to grad dinner?"

Her face brightened.

"I'd love to."

The City Barbeque Place (yes that is the real name of the restaurant) was packed with people (it was Saturday night, after all). We managed to find a table in the back, away from most of the noise. Nicole was possibly the most talkative person I had ever met. I wasn't to terribly upset. While I was a fairly loquacious individual most of the time, I wasn't in the mood to talk right then. I was ridiculously tired.

"Hold on," I asked. I did have one question. "If you're from South Carolina, how come you're not with the Crown?"

"Well, I auditioned for them. I was hoping to be in their pit."

"Really?"

"Yeah. But I couldn't stand their pit director. So, I started looking at other corps. And I happened to stumble across these guys."

"So you're auditioning for pit?" I was very confused. If she was in the pit, then how was she such a good marcher?

"Actually, no. I've decided I didn't want to spend a year not marching. I'm hoping to be in the battery. Quads, to be more specific."

"Holy crap!" I was stunned. Nicole wasn't much bigger than I was. "You play quads?"

"Have for two years."

"Then why'd you try out for Crown's pit?"

"Because when I signed in at the Crown audition, the guy working the table laughed at me when I wrote down quads under instrument. He even had the audacity to look me in the eye and say 'you wish'."

"Are you kidding me? What an ass! If I were you, I would have auditioned just in spite of him!"

"Normally, I would have," Nicole said, taking a sip of her drink, "but that guy was the percussion director."

"You're joking!"

"No, I wish I was."

I couldn't think of anything to say.

"I had been in the pit for the first two years of high school, so I was pretty sure that it wouldn't be too hard to go back. But I love playing quads, and I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I'm _good _at it. Even though I really wanted to be part of the Crown, I knew that I would be miserable in the pit. And I didn't like the pit director, like I told you. So I never came back for the second day of auditions."

I just stared at her. Part of me was shocked, and part of me wasn't surprised at all.

"I don't understand why people think that the only place for girls in drum corps is in the guard. I think girls can play just as well as guys if their given the opportunity. The problem is they never were, until now. I really hope that this corp can prove it."

"Wow," I said, "that's some pretty powerful stuff."

"So, why did you try out?" Nicole asked.

"I wish I could say my story was as good as yours, but it's not. I actually was talked into it by a friend," I said.

"Oh, she needed a buddy to try out with?"

"No, actually, Em's already been accepted into the corp of her choice. For some unknown reason, she desperately wanted me to do DCI too, and she thought that this would be a good corp to audition for."

"Who's she march for?" Nicole asked.

"She's in the pit for the Bluecoats."

"How come you didn't do the Bluecoats if you're from around here?"

"Because," I said, taking the last bite of my sandwich, "I'm not staying here for college. And I don't really like the Bluecoats."

"Where are you going to college?" Nicole asked.

"I was going to UCLA so I could march with the Blue Devils. But since I didn't get accepted with them, I'm not exactly sure."

"You tried out for the Blue Devils?"

"Yeah," I said, "but I got a sinus infection the week of the audition and couldn't play. It sucked."

"That would suck," Nicole said.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It told me that I was suppose to be home an hour ago. Arg.

"We'll," I told Nicole, "I got to go. It was nice meeting you."

"Yes," she said, "I hope I'll get to see you at mini-camp."

"Me too."

I walked in the door at 9:45, almost three hours after I was suppose to be home. My parents were going to be pissed. I was grounded for sure.

Instead, I was handed a letter with a return address of the admissions office of UCLA.

"We've been waiting for you all day," my mom said.

It was the moment of truth. Whatever was in this envelope was going to decide my future, and more importantly (or it least it was at that moment) whether I was going to be able to march for the Dragons next year.

I opened letter and read the first line out loud.

Dear Melody,

We are sorry to inform you…

I didn't have to read anymore.

It was fate.


	4. Memories

**Author's Note:** I'm happy to see that people are reading this. I greatly appreciate both the support and the criticism. I hope to have a longer update next week, because unfortunately, this is exam week at the real CHS. And please, keep the reviews coming.

I didn't sleep that night. I was up for almost four hours trying to get paperwork together for Boston University. I also attempted to write my essay for admission (the prompt I had chose was "Mind that does not stick. Elaborate." Its failure to stick was giving me massive problems.) I finally went to sleep around two. I had the worst night of sleep in a couple years.

I woke up for the fifth time around seven. I couldn't take it anymore. I rolled out of bed and looked out the window. The sun was beginning to rise and there was no snow on the ground. It looked like the beautiful weather was going to continue into today. I found my running shoes somewhere in the back of my closet and left a quick note for my parents.

"Out for a while. If I'm not home by ten, worry."

I turned left on my street and began to pick up my pace. I didn't run very often, and when I did, it wasn't real far or for real long. I didn't particularly like running; unlike most people, running didn't relieve stress or give me more energy. It tended to do just the opposite. I usually came back from a run tired and grumpy. I ran simply to escape my thoughts.

My thoughts didn't move too fast; they tended to be easy to out run. This proved to be true for the first half an hour or so. However, I knew they would catch up with me eventually. And that proved true also.

I had gone to my room directly after my parents had handed me the letter. My parents assumed that it was because I was upset that I had not been accepted to UCLA. Actually, I couldn't have been happier. While I liked UCLA, I really didn't want to go there. However, I had gone to great lengths to convince them otherwise. They thought I was crushed.

My real concern was telling my parents that I had been accepted into the Dragons. While my parents had been supportive during the audition process, something told me they weren't going to be so eager to let me spend my entire summer on a bus with a bunch of girls that they had never met. They had no problem letting me auditions, but I was pretty sure they didn't want to join a corp, even if I was accepted.

That was the problem. I _did_ want to join. More than anything else in the world right then, I wanted to be in a corp. I had wanted to ever since I saw my first DCI show, July of my freshman year…

_The hot sun beats down on the back of my neck. I can feel my skin burning in the early July sun. It's hot and I really, really want to go home. Unfortunately, that is not an option. My mother is working concessions until nine that night. I am stuck in the hot bleachers until then. I look at my watch. Only six hours until I can get out of here. _

"_Hey Catlin," I hear someone say. I look up to see Em climbing up the bleachers._

"_Hey," I respond, nowhere near as enthusiastic as Em, "Glad to see that someone else bothered to come." _

"_They'll be here" Em says, surveying the almost empty bleachers, "just wait."_

_Em plops down and pulls out a bottle of sun screen. _

"_I thought you might need this," she says, handing me the bottle. _

_I thank her profusely and begin to rub the oily lotion in the back of my neck, which already feels like the surface of the sun._

"_I'm so excited" says Em, putting the bottle back in her bag. "This is so awesome! We're going to see the Cavilers! That's the corp Dan marched for!" Em sounds just like a vet, calling the band director by his first name._

"_I don't care who Mr. Martin marched for," I say, rolling my eyes, "I just want to go home." _

_However, Em's enthusiasm can not be broken. _

"_Aw, come on," she says punching me in the shoulder, "don't you think it's awesome, being able to watch a DCI show right at our own school?"_

"_No, I really don't. I think it will be great when it's over."_

_Em turns around, clearly sick I listening to me complain. I don't blame her. If I were her, I would be sick of me too. I just didn't share Em's love of band._

_I look down at the field. Some corp is down on the field, practicing. Right now, they're on water break. Come to think of it, they've been on a water break as long as I've been here. I look at my watch. Only five hours and fifty-five minutes until I am out of here._

"_Set it up for a run through!" A voice booms. The guys on the sideline put there water bottle and begin to jog back on to the field. _

_Em gets very excited._

"_There going to have a run!" she squeals._

_By now, even I am intrigued. _

_The first note blows me away. They continue playing, the music getting progressively harder and louder. I am mesmerized. I don't even blink until the show is over._

"_Who was that?" I ask Em._

"_Blue Devils," she answers._

I smiled to myself as I though about that show. In truth, I hadn't really liked band in the beginning, but that single show had changed everything. It's funny to think how much I had changed since that day in July, not so very long ago. I had decided that day that I wanted to march with the Blue Devils. And even though that hadn't worked out, I still wanted to march corp. Yes I know, I had told Em Blue Devils or nothing ounce upon a time, but right now, more than anything, I wanted to march corp. Any corp.

I stopped running and looked up. I quickly realized I had no idea where the hell I was. It took me a minute to realize I was in front of the library, almost two and half miles from my house. I had had no intention of going that far. I grumbled, turned around and started for home. Pissed that I had gotten lost, I made it home in less than 20 minutes. I came home tired, cold, and grumpy. I still didn't know how to tell my parents.

"Hey there," my mom said when I got home "we weren't sure you would ever come home. Breakfast is in ten minutes. Go wash up."

My family was big on having Sunday breakfast together.

I walked up the stairs towards my room.

"Oh look, it's the UCLA reject," a voiced asked behind me.

Great. It wasn't even 10 and he was already insulting me.

"At least I'm going to college!" I shoot back before heading into my room.

"He" that had just insulted me was Mark. And unfortunately, he was my brother. My twin brother. He was exactly 98 seconds older than me, and still reminded me of that, even though we were only three months shy of our 18th birthday. He ran track, liked pickles, hated school, and was an expert at getting on my nerves. I sometimes had a hard time believing we were womb-mates.

I put on a clean shirt and meandered downstairs. Of course, Mark was there waiting.

"I'm going to college," he said. He never let an argument die.

"And where do you expect to get in with your stunning GPA of 1.8?" I shot back.

"CCC. And I have a 2.1 thank you very much."

CCC was Conersville Community College, about 15 minutes down the road.

"Anything with a pulse can get into CCC. That's not really something to be proud of."

He stared at me. I knew he had no comeback.

"And the only reason that you have a 2.1 is because I saved your ass in your journalism class. Otherwise, you'd be screwed."

My brother was in the journalism class at school. They wrote the school news paper. It met for three periods everyday, so the grade he received counted three times. Everyone who was able to keep a C- or above in the class received a full ride to CCC. It wasn't a terribly challenging class, but some people on the newspaper staff did work hard and were gifted writers. However, Mark was not one of them. He only took the class so he could get the scholarship, which he desperately needed (my parents were perfectly capable of paying for college, they just refused to pay for it until Mark could keep a steady 2.7. That had yet to happen.) He had scraped by last year with a C- and started this year with a D. I, being the good person that was, spent many night helping him write article after article. He finished the semester with a B, which greatly helped his sickly GPA. That's how my brother and I were. We gave each other hell at home, but when push came to shove, we were there for each other.

"Okay, I have no comeback. You win," Mark said.

"Thank you," I said.

"But, you're still a reject."

"MARK!"

When I returned to CHS (or Conersville High, depending on who you are) on Monday, I wasn't real eager to tell everyone about this weekend. I wanted to wait until I actually had the paper in my hand. I guess it just wouldn't seem real until then.

I did, however, feel obligated to tell Em. She flipped out and screamed for a long time. It was a little weird; you would have thought that she one excepted, not me. However, I was grateful someone was happy for me.

The letter came on Wednesday. I managed to intercept it before my parents got a hold of it. I tore it open.

Dear Catlin,

I am pleased inform you that you have been accepted into the Dragons. You will be playing the trumpet 2/trumpet 3 part. A schedule has been included. I look forward to seeing you at mini-camp, January 15.

Again, congratulations.

Sincerely,

Beth Browning

I hadn't imagined it. It was real.


	5. Problems

**Author's Note: I reposted chapter 4 because I some parts were unclear. Please, please review. I really would appreciate it. **

The next day I think I might have told the entire city of Conersville the good news. Now that I had solid proof in my hands, I was more than willing to tell everyone. Everyone, that was, except my parents. I still wasn't sure how they would react. (I was guessing somewhere along the lines of badly.)

Wednesday night I made a long distance phone call to my Uncle Mark, my brother's namesake. He was my mother's brother; they were very close, despite the fact they were polar opposites. My mother tended to be rather analytical (she was an accountant after all), while Uncle Mark tended to be more "artistic" as my father put it. Uncle Mark lived just outside Boston and made his living as a jazz pianist. He was married with a little girl, Olivia, who was just shy of a year and a half. He was the reason I played music. When I was little, we used to have what we call "family gatherings" (because, for some reason or another, we were against the word reunions). Uncle Mark would sit and play for almost the entire time. My brother Mark preferred to play tag with our other cousins, but I was fascinated with the sound Uncle Mark was able to draw out of the piano. I would sit and listen for as long as Uncle Mark was willing to play. One day, when I was about six, he sat me on his lap and showed me how to play. I was imminently enamored with the piano. I took lessons for a couple years, but then I chose to play cello after my piano teacher moved when I was about ten. I was terrible at cello, but Uncle Mark's faith in my future as a musician did not fade. When I started middle school, I switched instruments yet again, but this time for good. I fell in love with the trumpet. Uncle Mark's support had never wavered. He flew out once a year to come see a competition and was always willing to listen to my play. I knew he would be excited to hear that I was marching drum corp. Uncle Mark was no stranger to DCI. He had been in the pit for the Cadets for two years.

"Hey Uncle Mark, how are you?" I asked.

"As good as I can be with an eighteen month old," he laughed, "how are you, Kiwi?"

Unlike the rest of my family, Uncle Mark called me by my nickname, which I was grateful for. I had to other cousins name Catlin (except their names were actually spelled correctly: Caitlin. I envied them.)

"I'm good." I said, "I have some pretty big news."

"What?"

"I was accepted into a drum corp."

"Really? Which one?"

"They're new," I told him, "there an all female corp. They're called the Dragons. There out of Boston."

"Kiwi, that's great! You're welcome to stay at my house during winter rehearsals."

"Thanks," I said, "there's a small problem."

"Your mother," he said without any hesitation.

"Actually, I was going to say my parents, but close enough."

"Maria's a wonderful woman," he said, (Maria was my mother) "but she's a bit overprotective sometimes."

"I didn't notice," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Uncle Mark laughed. "I'm guessing you haven't told your parents yet."

"No," I said, "I was going to tell them after dinner tonight."

"Here, if your mother objects, give me a call. I'll try my best to talk some sense into her."

"Thanks," I said. I heard Olivia cry in the background.

"Duty calls," Uncle Mark said.

"Okay, talk to you soon."

"Talk to you soon. Good luck."

I hung up the phone. I really wasn't looking forward to the impending discussion and possible doom.

"Catlin, dinner!" my mother called.

Well, here went nothing.

Dinner was tense, at least for me. I was dreading the upcoming discussion. Unfortunately, it was coming whether I liked it or not.

Wednesday was Mark's day to do dishes. I figured that there was no point to procrastinate.

"Mom, Dad," I said as soon as Mark had cleared the dishes, "I need to talk to you."

Mark immediately turned around.

"About something that in no way, shape or form involves you," I said, looking him square in the eye.

Mark sighed and returned to the dishes.

"Mark," my mother said, 'I'll finish up. Why don't you go up to your room and do your homework for a change?"

Mark sighed, and reluctantly went upstairs.

"All the way upstairs!" my father bellowed, "Not up the first three five times."

I heard Mark sigh yet again and really walked upstairs.

"And shut your door!"

Mark's door closed with a thud. My father simply shook his head.

"What's up sweetie?" he asked.

I figured it would be easier to show than tell, so I handed them the packet and the acceptance letter.

My parents looked it over. They looked at me.

Moment of truth.

"Congratulations," my dad said.

"Thank you," I said, "I'd really like to do this."

"No," my mother didn't even hesitate, "Absolutely not."

I was afraid of this.

"Why not Mom?" I asked.

"I'm not going to let you go meandering around the country with a bunch a people I don't know."

"But, Mom," I pleaded, "you're going to let me do that this fall. You're going to ship me halfway across and leave me by myself."

"That's… that's different," she stuttered.

It really wasn't. But I wasn't brave enough to say that.

"Regardless, you're not going. You need to e-mail this woman and tell her to find a replacement."

That was it. My biggest hope, my biggest dreams, and my great desire went completely up in smoke in under two minute. When my mother got like this, no one could talk her out of it. There was no discussion or rethinking. This type of decision was final. I was beyond crushed. I could feel tears running down my checks.

My mother started to get up. My father pulled her back down.

"Maria, if Catlin wants to go, I think she should go."

I stared at my dad, dumbfounded. In my almost eighteen years of existence, I had never seen my father stand up to my mother. Ever.

"Herb," my mother said, "this isn't up for discussion."

"Yes it is," he said, "I think you're being unreasonable and acting on impulse. And that's not fair to Catlin. Catlin is almost eighteen, and as much as you want to protector her from the world, it has come to the point where you can no longer do that. It's not fair to force her to miss out on some wonderful experiences that she worked very hard for because you're afraid what happened to your sister will happen to Catlin."

My mother stared at my father, then silently got up and left.

I stared at my father. He simply got up and finished the dishes.

I sat at the table, beyond confused.

I went up to my room. As I walked passed Mark's room, his door flew open. I let him get the first syllable of his smart ass comment before slamming the door in his face. I couldn't decide which was more satisfying: the noise it made when it closed, or the "OW!" Mark let out afterwards. (Yes, I know that is a bit sadistic, but I was in no mood to put up with him at that moment.)

I collapsed on my bed, not sure whether to laugh or cry. I wanted to laugh because there was still hope that I might get to do this. I wanted to cry because the possibility my father would win this argument was zero to none. Eventually, the crying part won out, and I lain on my bed and cried myself to sleep.


	6. Last Chance

**Author's Note: I'm finally back from Ireland (fun) in one piece after spending sixteen hours in Boston Logan International Airport (not fun). I'm glad to finally be able to update. I really like Kiwi. Please, please, please keep those reviews coming. If you have already submitted a review, don't be afraid to review again. I am also open to any suggestion for the story (I need a color scheme for the Dragons' uniform. I'm thinking green and black. I'm hoping someone has a better idea.)**

**P.S. I've decided to post this chapter without the part I was collaborating on. Yes, I know, it's a horrible awful thing that I should never even think of doing, but I hate staying away from this story for so long. The story still works without it. Maybe when I finally do get it finished, I'll post it. For now, I just want to get on with the story.**

Winter break started the next Friday. I spent most of the day up in my room working on my entrance essay. I had given up on "mind that does not stick" and had decided on the "most thrilling experience of your life" prompt. Even though I was pretty sure that most people applying would choose that topic, it was defiantly easier than writing about a mind that refused to stick.

My mother and I hadn't spoken since our "discussion" almost a week and a half ago. I knew that Uncle Mark had called her on Thursday; they had a long and rather angry discussion. My father hadn't mentioned anything about it. The prognoses looked bleak.

Em and I went shopping on Saturday. Em had already gotten most of her Christmas shopping done, but I was still far behind. This, by default, meant I had to drive (whoever had to buy more on a shopping trip had to drive. It was an unwritten rule between us).

Em climbed in and I threw some papers at her.

"Hold these please," I asked, "I have to go make some copies and then stop at the post office."

Em did not respond. She was reading one of the papers I had just handed her with great intensity. I tried to think of what in that stack could possibly have her intrigued. I guess teacher recommendation were more interesting than I thought.

Several minutes later we pulled into the copy place. Em was still reading the same paper.

"Em, I need that," I said.

"Show this to your parents," she said, not looking up from the paper.

"They've seen all my teacher recommendation."

"Kiwi," she said, "this is you admission essay."

"What? How'd that get in there?"

"It was right on top," she said.

"Well, it shouldn't be. It's just a rough draft; I'm still working on it," I said perplexed, "let's get going."

"Promise me you'll show it to them," Em pleaded

"Why?" I asked. It really wasn't anything special.

"I think it will change their minds," she said.

"I don't anything will change my mother's mind," I said sadly.

"It's worth a shot," she said, "what's the worst that could happen?"

She had a point. It probably couldn't hurt.

"Okay," I said; "but I don't hold out much hope."

Em smiled and got out of the car.

Later that night, after my parents went to bed, I printed out another copy of my essay and placed it on the table. It was my last chance.

When I woke up the next morning, my mother was gone and my essay was in the same place. She probably didn't even bother to read it. I was crushed. I needed to get out of the house.

I went to get my running shoes from the living room, where I had last seen them. They were not there. I looked under my bed, in my closet, and in about every other square inch of the house. I even woke my brother to see if he had stolen them as a joke (for once, he hadn't). I finally asked my dad if he had seen them.

"No," he said, "not recently."

That was odd. I thought he told me to put them away just yesterday.

My father, however, was eager to change the subject.

"Your mother's out shopping. She won't be back until late."

Okay. It wasn't like that really affected me.

"Mark has to be down at school for some track thing this morning."

Now that did affect me.

"Do I have to drive him?" I whined.

"I'm afraid so. I have to wrap."

I sighed. Mark had gotten his license at 16, but he had it permanently revoked by my parents when he got three speeding tickets in two months.

"When does he have to be there?" I asked

My dad looked at is watch.

"Thirty minutes."

I grumbled, ran upstairs and started beating on Mark's door.

"Mark William Peterson!" I shouted, "Get out of bed. I am leaving in twenty minutes with or without you!"

I heard Mark stumble out of bed and curse. Well, at least I knew he was up.

Fifteen minutes later, Mark hobbled down stair, half awake but clean and dressed. He grabbed an apple and went out to the car. By the time I was in the car, he was already asleep. I shock my head.

Mark didn't regain conciseness until we were two minutes from the school. He jumped out and started running in without saying a word.

"Hey Mark!" I yelled to him.

"What?"

"Get a ride home!"

"Why?" he asked, "do you have somewhere you got to be?"

"No. I just don't feel like driving back up here."

"Fair enough!" he yelled and headed back inside.

I pulled out of the parking lot and started to drive somewhere. I knew I should go home, but there really wasn't anything to do there. Miraculously, I had been able to buy all my Christmas gifts yesterday, so shopping wasn't an option. I finally decided to go look for new running shoes, since my shoes were not only missing, but they were also about ready to bite the dust.

I turned into the place were I always bought my shoes, Hit the Ground Running. It wasn't anything real special, but they sold shoes I was actually willing to pay for. I pulled into the parking lot and parked next to a black Saturn that looked a lot like my mothers. I stared at the car for a minute. It finally occurred to me that it _was_ my mothers.

Now I was very confused. My mother went to great length to avoid this store. I dragged her here at the beginning of every summer. She would buy me one pair of sneakers for band. Anything else I had to pay for on my own. My mother had a hard time parting with a hundred dollars for a pair of sneakers, but she felt that band was worth it. Anything other than that, she felt Kohl's sneakers worked just fine.

So why was she parked in there parking lot right now? I looked into the window. At least that cleared up one mystery. I could see my running shoes on the chair next to my mother. Regardless, I was still confused. She _never_ bought me running shoes as a Christmas gift. Unless… no that wasn't possible… was it?

I pulled out of the parking lot with lightning speed before my thoughts got too carried away.


	7. Sad Stories

**Author's Note: This is going to be fairly long, however **_**extremely**_**important****, author's note, so please, just bare with me. I blame my last hiatus on procrastination, collaboration, the 4****th**** of July, and FJM clinics (which was one of the best experiences of my life. If you have the chance to go, I suggest you take it.) I'm blaming my upcoming ridiculously long hiatus on band camp, **_**From the 50 Yard Line**_**, and March4Music fundraising (both to be explained shortly). I'd love to come back in a month to a ton of reviews/suggestions.**

**For anyone in the Rhode Island area, I highly suggest to you attend the ****Rhode Island International Film Festival on August 8****th**** to see the movie **_**From the 50 Yard Line**_**. It's an excellent documentary about all the hard work that goes into marching band. I was fortunate enough to see it and it is awesome. Check out w w w . f r o m t h e 5 0 y a r d l i n e . c o m for more information (my apologizes; it will not let me post hyperlinks. You will need to take out all the spaces).**

**On the same note, March 4 Music is a great charity helping some of the underprivileged bands seen in **_**From the 50 Yard Line**_**. They are holding what they call an "internet march" to raise awareness for under funded band programs. They want to register as many marching bands and band alumni as possible. Registering is as simple as sending an e-mail. Go to w w w . m a r c h 4 m u s i c . c o m for more information.**

**Thanks for putting up with the longest author's note ever. I hope everyone enjoys Kiwi's latest adventures until next time.**

I went running on Christmas Eve (no, I don't know what's wrong with me either). My skin seemed to welcome the cold air and the light snow that was falling on the ground. Everyone's Christmas light twinkled beautifully in the starry December night. It was about as perfect as a Christmas Eve could ever get.

My life had only gotten more confusing since that Sunday. When my mother returned from shopping that day, she started talking to me again for no rhyme or reason. She didn't mention corp or even apologizes; she just started talking like nothing had ever happened. As odd as it was, I wasn't complaining. I had missed my mother.

The second thing that happened was that Uncle Mark started calling to my mother very frequently and they would talk for long periods of time. My mother would often lock her door or go down to the basement so no one could ease drop on their conversation. Uncle Mark and my mother had always been rather close, but this was a weird even for them.

The third thing that happened was my running shoes reappeared, in the exact spot I had left them. My parents seemed oblivious to it, which was odd considering even Mark noticed. However, this incident was fairly minor compared to the other things going on at my house.

I hadn't emailed Beth Browning yet. I figured I would wait to see if my parents had given me a straight answer by New Years and then I would e-mail her. At that moment, I was what was called "cautiously optimistic." I hadn't given up hope just yet.

By the time I got home, my dad was watching TV and my mom had already gone to bed. There were a couple old photo albums that I had never seen sprawled across the coffee table.

"What are these?" I asked my dad.

"Your mom's childhood photo albums. She was looking at them this evening."

I picked up on of the books and started flipping through it. There were lots of pictures of my mom when she was little; Mom at the beach, Mom at the fair, Mom's first day of school, Mom with Uncle Mark and Aunt Melody, whom I was named after. There were lots of pictures of just the three of them laughing. Mom had come from a very close knit family. She had told me repeatedly that Aunt Melody was her best friend growing up.

"Dad," I asked, "what happened to Aunt Melody?"

"She died." That was the same answer he gave every time I asked about her.

"How?" I asked.

Dad turned off the TV.

"It's a very sad story."

"Melody was living outside of San Francisco. She was working as pediatrician at a small family practice. Your cousin Chrissie was about a year old. I believe Chrissie had the flu and she had run out of medicine. Melody's car was in the shop, so she ended up walking to the local pharmacy. When she was crossing a street, she was hit by a truck they think was going close to seventy. Melody never had a chance. She died on impact. They never found out who hit her."

"You and Mark were about four. Your mother was crushed. She didn't come out of her room for almost a week. She didn't drive for almost a year. Even though it was fourteen years ago, I don't think your mother has totally recovered. She still has a hard time trusting people."

I was stunned. I had always been told she was "in an accident." I had no idea she was a victim of a hit and run. I didn't know what to say.

Head spinning, I told my dad good night and walked upstairs.


	8. Christmas

**Author's Note: I'm alive! After two weeks of 13+ hour days, I'm finally able to write again. Hooray! **

**A friend of mine started a facebook group for Rules of Being a Dragon called 'I wanna be a Dragon!' I'm flattered. For anyone who is interested the link is in my author profile (click on bandbandx3 at the top of this page). While I currently do not have a facebook, I will be more than to answer questions and take suggestions through a friend's facebook, if leaving reviews really isn't you thing.**

**I was hoping to avoid this but, I now feel like I have to do this. As you may have noticed, there have been some other stories posted that center around an all girls corp. I'm okay with that because a.) after I began the story, some of you and my DCI obsessed friends informed me that there have all ready been a couple all female corps (however, for the sake of the story, we're just going to say the Dragons were the first), b.) the idea is not that complex, c.) I'm not even sure if I was the first to use it, and d.) they asked me first. However, from here on out I do own Kiwi, Nicole, Em, and all the other characters that have been introduced and have yet to be introduced. I also own the Dragons. I would be more than willing to lend them out, just ask first via the facebook group or this site.**

**Wow, I think this author's note is longer than the last one. Yikes! Well, I'll stop rambling on and let you get on with the story. You know the drill. Leave some.**

I woke up the next morning a little confused. Then I remembered it was Christmas Morning and felt much better.

Even though I was almost eighteen, I still loved Christmas. I would spend weeks preparing. I had a mini-tree in my room and I often put up lights. I made cookies and wrapped packages weeks in advance. I still woke up early on Christmas morning.

I rolled over and look at my clock. 8:15. I was behind schedule. I yawned and jumped up.

When I walked out there was a big package for me and a bunch of little packages for Mark. Saying I was intrigued would be an understatement. Mark was kind enough to let me open my gigantic present first. Ironically, the big package was filled with a bunch of little packages, much like Mark's. I was a little perplexed. I turned to my parents.

"You can't ask any questions until the end," was all my mother had to say.

I shrugged. I wasn't going to complain.

I started opening box after box. First box was clothes: shorts, t-shirts, and other articles of clothing I would need if I was going to be in the Dragons. Second box was new water bottle, which I desperately need because mine had completely fallen apart last fall. Next box was sunscreen and sunglasses (where do you find those in the middle of the winter?) After that a duffle bag, new running shoes, and blow up mattress with sheets. My mind was racing.

When I finally opened my gigantic box of present, I let Mark open his. Mark didn't do too badly. He got his license back.

When everyone's presents were open and the whole family was sitting in a sea of rapping paper (Mark had yet to remove the bright pink bow I had put on his head), my parents handed me a white envelope.

Inside was a check for the exact amount of the corp fees.

My heart started racing and my eyes filled with tears. The thing that I wanted most in the world at that moment was right in my hands.

"Does this mean…?"

My mother smiled, "Yes."

I started crying with joy. I couldn't believe it. All of my prayers had been answered by one little tiny piece of paper. I was going to be a Dragon!

"Thank Uncle Mark," Mom said, "he wouldn't let up. He was determined to make sure that you marched DCI this summer."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," was all I could say over and over again.

"You're welcome," my dad said.

The first thing I did was run up stairs and call Uncle Mark.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I said about a hundred times over.

"You're welcome, you're welcome, you welcome," he said, "I wouldn't let you down."

"I don't think I've ever been this happy in my life!"

"Marching DCI is a great experience. It's one of the most exhausting and challenging experiences you'll ever have, but still a great experience" Uncle Mark said, "I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did."

I heard Olivia squeal in the background.

"Got to run. I have Santa Clause business to deal with."

I laughed and hung up the phone.

The next thing I did was call Emily.

"Guess what?" I said, actually more like screamed.

"What?" she said.

"I'm going! I'm going to be a Dragon!" I said, crying all over again.

"No way!" Em said, "They're letting you go?"

"Yeah! Apparently my uncle talked my mom into it."

"Kiwi, that's great!" Em said, "You know what this means then?"

"What?" I asked.

"I'll see you on the field."

After I hung up, I thought about what she said. Even thought I knew she was joking, she had a point. For the first time in our lives, Em and I would be against each other in competition.


	9. Precamp Jitters

**Author's note: I actually don't have much to say. I'm having some issues with this site. When I update, my story does come up as updated. Anybody else have this problem?**

**So you know the drill. Leave some via reviews or facebook. This is probably the last non-band chapter for a little while at least. Enjoy!**

The time between Christmas and the first mini-camp flew. While I was excited, I was nervous. There was always the fear of not being good enough, of not being able to keep up. This was a division one corp. This wasn't high school anymore. This was serious.

_Kiwi, no one will believe in you unless you do._

The words stopped me dead in my tracks while I was out on a run. I was running almost daily now. It kept me from thinking. If I was given too much time to think, I could drive myself crazy with worry.

I hadn't thought about those words in almost a year. But now that I had, a flood of memories came back to me.

_The song ends, and I conduct the cut-off a count late. I curse and hit the back button on my iPod and the song starts again. I put my hands up and begin again._

"_Stop," Lauren says, "that last one was fine."_

"_I cut off a count late!"_

"_So what," she says calmly, "the rest of it was great. They expecting you to mess up at you audition. Heck, I got so lost I wound up having to give ones for a goof ten seconds."_

_Lauren is a former drum major and my personal hero. She has just finished her freshman year of college and is helping me with my drum major audition before she heads of for her second year with the Cadets._

"_There's no point," I tell her hopelessly, "I'm not going to get it."_

"_Who are you?" Lauren asks, "Kiwi is always so sure if herself."_

_I shoot her a look._

"_I am not sure of myself."_

"_Okay, fine," she says, "but you're the last person on earth to fall victim to fear of failure."_

"_Well, this is different," I stammered._

"_Kiwi" Lauren says, "no one will believe in you unless you do."_

Lauren had been right. I had made drum major. And yes, being drum major had been nerve racking and I had had this same fear, but I got through it. Not that there hadn't been some challenging moment, sometimes I had doubted myself, and sometimes I was so frustrated that I wanted to quit. Trust me; there had been more than enough of those moments. However, I still got through it. I had to keep reminding myself this would be no different.

Before I knew it, it was the day of the first camp. We had to be at the school Friday at seven and would leave Sunday at three, which meant I had a four o'clock flight there and a five o'clock flight back. I was curios to see how this would work out.

Mark and I bailed school an hour early that Friday. Mark, since he now had his license back, would drive my car home from the airport so it wouldn't sit I wouldn't have to pay to park it.

Mark finally wandered out 10 minutes after I was supposed to meet him.

"What took you so long?" I asked, "I thought you'd be happy to ditch school."

"I had to finish an article," he said.

"Okay," I said, a little confused. Since when did Mark put school before… well anything for that matter?

"Let's get a move on it. I can't miss this flight."

"You know," Mark whinnied, "I don't see why you have to go. It's just band practice. I really need your help on an article."

"Mark, if you were running professional track, would you miss a practice to help me do something?" I didn't even know if there was such a thing, but I thought it was worth a shot.

"No," Mark said.

"So what makes you think I would skip this practice?"

"Yea," Mark said, "but it's only band. Track's different."

Let me explain. My brother made that statement out of ignorance, not arrogance. In all four years of high school, Mark has never seen a band show. Our parents have a rule that we only have to come to one of each other's competition once a year. However, Mark always manages to wiggle his way out of it. It didn't bother me to much. I had only been to one track meet in four years of high school.

"Mark," I said, "if you do not get in the car right now, I will tell mom that you and Mackenzie slept together and you will get the sex talk ever night for the rest of your life."

Mackenzie was my brother's super pretty, super dumb girlfriend.

"You wouldn't dare," he said.

"When two people love each other very much…" I began, imitating my mother sing-song tone.

"Shut up," he says, opening the car door, "just drive the car."

I smiled sweetly and turned the key.


	10. Meet and Greet

**Author's Note: This chapter is coming to you straight from Pittsburgh. I've had a wonderful weekend here, despite the rain. **

**From the 50 Yard Line is going to be showing again, this time in Louisville Kentucky on Sunday, September 9****th****. I highly suggest you go if you can. It is an excellent movie. For more information, head over to their website. The link is in the bandbandx3 profile, along with the link to the facebook group.**

**I am sad to say that updates are going to be coming even slower than they were now that school is starting. I do have a free period this year and I will try to write during then, but with calc and chem. 2, I'm not exactly sure if that's going to happen. I will try and post whenever I can.**

**So, enjoy this (by request) very long chapter until next time. You know the drill. And I think I have fixed the problem with my computer, so you should be able to post reviews even if you don't have an account. **

My flight to Boston went smoothly and I made it in on time. I meet Uncle Mark at the airport, ate dinner, and went to the high school where practice was being held.

When I walked into the gym, I immediately started looking for Nicole. She had sent me an e-mail saying that she made it, and at the percussion mini-camp she had gotten the quad spot she so desperately wanted. I was excited to see her again.

"Kiwi!" I heard a voice yell above the crowed.

I turned and there was Nicole.

"Hey, how's it going?" She asked.

"Great, now that I'm here."

Nicole laughed.

"Stress of being a second semester senior getting to you?" she asked sarcastically.

"Not quite there yet. I still got to get through exams," I told her.

"Wow that sucks. We had exams before Christmas."

"Rub it in, rub it in."

A metronome began to blare out of nowhere. We all covered our ears.

"That got your attention," Beth, now standing on the podium, said.

We all shook our heads, half in agreement, half in disgust. She had gotten our attention, at the expense of our ear drums.

"Ok, everyone sit down. I promise you'll have time to mingle later."

We all grabbed the nearest seat.

"First off, I want to congratulate all of you on making it this far. Over one thousand girls auditioned, and the 135 of you in this room were the one we chose to take this corp all the way to Pasadena. Be proud of yourselves for that, it's not an easy accomplishment.

"We're not going to get into music at all tonight. We're saving that for tomorrow. Tonight, I want to pass out some paper work and give you girls a chance to get to know each other. You are going to be spending almost four months together; the sooner you learn how to get along with each other, the better."

There was a small snicker from some of the girls.

"The first thing I want to do is pass out the promised paper work."

Stacks of papers began to float around the mass of girls in the room.

"I know you all thought you were done with paperwork. Guess what? It's only just begun."

I quietly groaned. I had not enjoyed the pile of paperwork that had been sent with the acceptance letter.

I took the first paper. It was the same schedule that had been sent with the acceptance packet. However, on the back, there was some more information about the show.

"For those of you who didn't know yet, we changed the show theme. We are no longer doing 'The many moods of jazz'. You're welcome."

There was more than a little snickering from the peanut gallery.

"The theme this year will be 'Standing outside the fire'. Most of the music will be original, but we will be playing a variation of the Garth Brooks song. However, I doubt you'll even recognize it. The visual staff has been having a field day with the concept."

Another packet of paper started to float around the room. I looked at it. Beth said it was some medical release forms and what not that we would have to fill out before practice next month.

I groaned. I hated paper work.

"Are there any questions?" Beth asked when she finished explaining our most recent "bundle of joy" (a.k.a. horrible packet of paperwork).

We looked up. No one had anything to say. .

"You girls look dead."

I looked at Beth. All of this paperwork made me feel dead.

"Or maybe your just nervous and don't know anybody."

That was a possibility, I though. I was just now realizing that I was so messed up from sitting on a plane for two hours that I had lost the capability to think.

"Okay," Beth said, "I'm going to let you talk to each other for a few minutes, and then we are going to do full corp introductions. But first, I'd like to introduce you to your drum majors for this season," Beth said.

"You're head drum major this year will be Sarah Keeler."

Everyone cheered nervously, as if they were scared of being too loud. The red headed girl with bright green eyes, sitting next to Beth, stood up.

"Sarah marched baritone for the Blue Devils for the past three seasons and she was drum major for Fairview High School in Texas before that."

Sarah motioned her hands for a louder applause, letting us know that it was okay to act like the crazy group of girls she thought we were.

The responding screamed proved her correct.

"And your assistant drum major this year marched for the Cadets for two years and was drum major for Connersville High School."

Huh?

"And," Beth said looking at the back of the room, "she's too short to be seen right now so she's going to have to stand on a chair."

This was getting too weird.

I turned around. There, standing on a chair and looking very embarrassed, was Lauren.

I dropped my papers on the floor. Lauren was our drum major? What how had she not told me? I had e-mailed her just this morning. In all our correspondence, how on earth had she failed to mention this?

Even though Lauren had graduated two years ago, we had still managed to keep in touch via the internet. I couldn't believe she hadn't told me about this.

"Okay," Beth said, "You've got 20 minutes to mingle starting… now!"

I ran over to Lauren.

"Oh…"

"My…"

"GOD!"

We both started screaming and ran into a flying hug.

"What," I said, after we were done screaming and jumping up and down, "is this about not telling me you're drum major or that you even left the Cadets?"

"Well," she said, "it's a long story. I'll tell you later. But you so did not tell me you were marching with the Dragons!"

I paused for a moment.

"I didn't?"

"No," Lauren laughed, "you said you were marching corp. You never said which one."

I stood there, bewildered.

"Well Lauren, I'm marching with the Dragons this season."

"And I left the Cadets and am now the drum major for the Dragons."

We both laughed.

"Hey," Lauren said, "I got to go. I need to ask Sarah something. I'll talk to you later tonight."

Lauren left and started walking towards the front of the room. I stood there, stunned. I still couldn't believe that Lauren hadn't told me she left the Cadets. Why would she leave a well established corp that she loved so much for some brand new corp that was pretty much a gamble?

"What was that about?" Nicole asked, coming up behind me. Apparently she had witnessed the whole jumping up and down and screaming scene that has just unfolded.

"Oh nothing," I said, "Lauren was drum major at my high school two years ago."

"Oh, okay," she said. She didn't look real impressed.

"Hey, there are some people I met at mini-camp I think you should meet."

The people that Nicole wanted me to meet were what she referred to as (and I quote) "the few, the proud, the quad line." There were four of them including Nicole. Danielle, the first girl I meet, was a local girl; she was finish up her freshman year at Boston College and had marched for the Jersey Surf (division II) last year. Abby was from Texas and, like us, was finishing out her senior year of high school. The final girl on the quad line, Hannah, was actually a junior in college, and had never marched DCI before.

While I was talking to them, I realized something. The girls loved playing quads. I figured they probably had too, or they would have just quit a long, long time ago. After witnessing how brutal our quad line was to each other back home, I was pretty sure these girls really had to fight to keep playing.

The metronome blared again, and we all covered our ears and quickly found seats. It was only the first day, and we were already proving to be fairly trainable.

"Well, now that you've had a little time to introduce yourselves one on one, I want you to introduce yourself to the entire corp. When it's your turn, you'll stand up, tell us you name, your age, where you're from, and one interesting thing about you. We'll go by section.

"As some of you may have notice when talking to each other, the Dragons actually have a cymbal line. I know that's not exactly the most popular thing to do today, but in my opinion, you're not a real corp unless you have a cymbal line. My apologies to the Blue Devils."

We all started to laugh.

"And since we've already talked about them, let's start our introduction with the cymbal line."

Four nervous looking girls, one in each corner of the room, stood up.

"Lindsey, let's start with you."

"Lindsey" had light brown hair, huge brown eyes, and looked like she was about twelve. Out of the four girls in the line, she was easily the youngest, and by far, the most terrified.

"Well, um, hi," she stammered, "I'm Lindsey. I'm fifteen, and I'm a local girl."

There were a couple cheers through out the crowd.

"Yea, actually my high schools biggest rival is the high school we're in right now."

I laughed. I'm she got hell from her friends for coming here.

"And… um, something interesting…. well, I have a brother."

"Younger or older?" Beth asked.

"Younger," Lindsey said, "He's eleven. He likes putting his pet frogs in my bed in the middle of the night."

There were some various squeals through out the audience. I just laughed. There had been a time where Mark had done that to me.

"Thank you for sharing," Beth said, looking slightly amused, "Anna, you're next."

We finished with the cymbals, and flew through the rest of the percussion section. There were girls from everywhere across the country. One of the snares was from California. A girl on the bass line was from Wyoming. Anna, a cymbal player, was from Idaho. It was crazy.

Next up was the guard. Again, I was amazing at the geographic variety among the girls, and at how many of them looked like girls in our guard at home. One girl in particular, the one with auburn hair, big blue eyes similar to mine, and was sitting a few feet away, looked incredibly familiar. But I didn't know why.

"Hi, my name is Mary-Katherine," she said, "But that's a mouthful, so everyone calls me…"

Duh.

"M-Cat," I mumbled under my breath.

"M-Cat," she echoed.

Nicole turned to me.

"You know her?"

I nodded. How on earth could I forget her?

"How?" Nicole asked.

"I'm from Connersville, Ohio," M-Cat continued, completely oblivious to mine and Nicole's conversation just a few feet away."

"Well, answers that question."

"She was in our guard last year," I said. She was a lot of stuff last year actually, but none of it I was really willing to repeat with her standing only a yard away.

I grimaced. She was one of the people I had not missed seeing on a daily basses after fall had ended. I had only known she was in the corp for a few minutes and I was already dreading spending an entire summer with her. I thought I was supposed to be done with that.

_It was only a joke._

I knew that. I knew it wasn't supposed to be malicious or destructive.

The problem was, that's exactly what it had been.

"What's wrong with you?" Nicole asked, "You look like you're about to kill somebody."

"I'm fine," I said, trying to shake off the feeling of loathing that had just come over me.

"Well, while you were off in la la land, your friend M-Cat finished her introduction and now we're on a ten minute break," Nicole said.

"She's not my friend," I said through clenched teeth.

"I noticed," Nicole said, "come on, let's get something to drink."

We meandered around the school until we found a vending machine that had both pop and Gatorade. I was quite happy with my blue Gatorade, and Nicole finally decided on a Sprite after staring at the machine for a good two minutes. I couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" Nicole asked.

"You spent the entire walk here telling me that you wanted a coke."

"Yes?" Nicole said perplexed.

"You got a Sprite. I thought you wanted a Coke." Now, I was confused.

"Yes, and I got one." Nicole was looking at me like I was crazy.

"That's a Sprite," I said, pointing at the label.

"Yes. It's a coke, more specifically a Sprite."

Finally, it clicked.

"Oh, a coke isn't a specific brand; it's just pop,"

"What?"

"Pop," I said, "You know, carbonated stuff that contains enough sugar to run a small village. What you're drinking."

"Oh, you mean coke?" Nicole said, taking a sip of her Sprite.

"Same thing," I said, trying to open my Gatorade.

"Yea, but who calls it that?"

"The entire… Midwest," I said, really struggling, "why won't this thing open!?!"

"Here let me do it," she said.

She took the blue bottle out of my hands, wiped off the top, and opened it before I even had a chance to protest.

I was stunned.

"How'd you do that?" I asked.

Nicole simply shrugged.

"Do people really call it that?"

"Call what, what?"

"Do people call coke pop?"

"Oh yea," I said, "if you walked into a restaurant where I live and you said you wanted a coke, they'd bring you a Coca-Cola. They wouldn't ask you what type."

Nicole seemed slightly amused by this.

"Out here, in Boston, and on most of the east coast for that matter, they call it soda."

"Wow," Nicole said, finishing off her drink, "I've only ever called it coke."

"Learn something new everyday," I said, looking back towards the band room, "I think we need to head back."

The halls were pretty much empty.

"You're probably right," Nicole said, breaking into a half walk, half jog.

We made it into the back into the gym not a moment too soon. Beth was just beginning the brass introductions. We were starting with the tubas, then on to the baritones, the mellophones, and finally, the trumpets. I tried hard to pay attention to each of the girls (like Beth said, we were going to spend an entire summer together), but it was proving to be very challenging. By now, it was almost eleven at night, and I had been up since five that morning finishing homework. I was very sleepy. Even the sugar from the Gatorade couldn't keep my eyes from drooping.

"Hey, wake up," Nicole said after poking me in the side.

"What?" I asked, looking around the room.

"You fell asleep," she said with a sympathetic look, "the trumpets are up now."

I groggily got to my feet. I surveyed the room. There were about twenty-five of us, all standing up with perfect band posture and looking more confident than we probably felt.

Beth looked around.

"Catlin," she said, looking right at me, "why don't you go first?"

Crap.

"Well," I said, trying not to sound like I had woken up less than thirty seconds ago, "I'm Catlin Peterson, but most people call Kiwi."

Most of the corp wore the same confused expression.

"Yes, there is a story," I said, "and no, I'm not going to tell it now. Ask me later."

There were couple snickers, but most of the girls still looked befuddled.

"I'm from Connersville, Ohio," I said, eager to change the subject. As much as I like the story of how I acquired my nickname, I was in no mood to tell it right then.

"I'm seventeen, and I not only am I a trumpet player, I'm a cymbal player as well."

The cymbal section (all four of them) cheered very loudly. I smiled at sat down.

I tried to stay awake and listen to the rest of my section, but I guess I wasn't successful because I felt someone poking me in the back a half an hour later.

"Kiwi, wake up," Nicole said sleepily, "I think we're almost done."

One look at Nicole told me she had fallen asleep too.

"Now that all of you have gone, I think it's time I introduced myself," Beth said.

I looked up at her. I was in no mood to listen to anyone else tonight, but I figured it would be a good idea to feign interest in my director, even though I couldn't manage to pull it off for my own section.

"As you all known, my name is Beth Browning," Beth started, "And I am too old to admit my age."

There were a couple of snickers from the couple girls that were still awake.

"I am originally from the Boston area, but I just recently moved back here from California. As many of you know, I was the brass director for the Blue Devils. I was also the band director at one of the high schools in Southern California. However, two years ago, I had a baby and decided that I wanted to be closer my family so I moved back here. This year, I realized that I missed DCI a little too much and thought it was about time the girls had a corp of their own. So, I started making phone calls, getting people together, and after fast forwarding through a lot of boring details, we wind up here.

"And," Beth said, "my interesting fact is that I'm a terrible speller."

Most of us were awake by then and laugh hysterically at Beth's last comment.

"Wow, you guys really are tired," Beth said, "that wasn't all that funny."

I nodded. I couldn't have said it better myself.

"That will be all for tonight," Beth said, "I will see you back here at 8 o'clock tomorrow. You're done for tonight."

I looked at my watch. It was almost midnight. I woke the sleeping Nicole behind me, bid her good night (she, along with a lot of the other girls were spending the night at the school), and headed outside to wait for Uncle Mark to come get me (since I had flown there, I didn't have a car. Uncle Mark had volunteered to provide transportation.) I was hoping that he would show up soon. I was about to fall asleep.

While I was outside waiting for, I saw M-Cat walk outside talking to some other guard girls. She looked completely different than the last time I had seen her, which was only two months ago. She had dyed her platinum blonde hair an auburn color, and she had either gotten, or gotten rid of, colored contacts. That night, forever ingrained in my memory, she had had brown eyes.

_You need to let it go. It was just a mistake. A miscommunication._

I knew that. I told myself that every time. But even months later, I was still pissed.

M-Cat walked passed me while I was sitting on the curb. She saw me, but completely ignored me.

"Well it's an improvement," I mumbled under my breath.

It was an improvement. For the past six months, I had gotten the evil eye and a couple words that were usually used to describe female dogs. Being ignored was quite an improvement.

Still, if anybody has right to be angry, I felt it was me.

"Hey, Kiwi, are you coming?" Uncle Mark was sitting right in front of me.

"Yea, I'm coming."

I climbed into the car, grateful to be going to bed.


	11. Anywhere But Here

**Author's Note: Remember me? I know it's been forever since I updated, but life's been kind of crazy. Thankfully, the season's going well (we broke 90 this weekend!) minus the section drama. However, my schedule's insane. The two free weekends I have had I spent shopping for a homecoming dress and at homecoming. I really haven't had time to write, much to my disappointment. This will probably be my last update until the end of the season (November 17****th**** unless, god forbid, the football team does well in the play offs). Sorry guys!**

**Well, I think that's all for now. I hope everyone is having a good season and I hope to see some of you at the Indianapolis regional in two weeks or at Grand Nats in four. I hope everyone enjoys the adventures of Kiwi until next time. Kiwi's such a bad liar, isn't she?**

**P.S. For those of you that do not play trumpet a Xeno (pronounced Ze-no) is a very nice brand of trumpet. **

I woke up late the next morning and had barley enough time to take a shower and inhale breakfast before heading of to the second day of camp. I was very excited for my first real practice with the Dragons, despite my nervousness. I was looking forward to tackling the music of a DCI corp.

I was a couple minutes early, so I immediately started looking for one of the only two people I knew. I found Nicole sitting outside the gym listening to her iPod with a lopsided grin on her face.

"Hey, what are you listening to?" I asked.

"The Sweet Escape," she said without changing her facial expression.

That song did not give anyone in the world that type of grin. Not unless there was a story behind it.

"And…" I prodded.

"Nothing," she said,

"Right," I said sarcastically.

"Somebody gave me the CD."

I looked at her.

"A male somebody?" I asked.

Nicole checks turned crimson as she looked down at the ground.

"No," she managed to stammer.

"You know you're a really bad lair," I said sympathetically.

Nicole's checks turned even darker red.

"Yes," she said.

"So," I asked, "who is it?"

She looked up.

"His name's Brad," she said, "and was a quad player at my high school last year."

I smiled. She was cute.

"And he's running of to California next month and I will probably never see him again," she said, placing her face in her hands.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. I had had no intention of causing her pain.

"It's fine," she said, wiping her eyes, "so, any guy your life?"

"No," I said. But the instant I said that, I felt my face begin to burn.

"You're lying," Nicole said.

Now it was my turn to be embarrassed

"No, really," I said, "I'm not interested in anyone."

"Oh, really," Nicole asked, "then how come you're blushing?"

"I'm not blushing," I said, trying to cover-up, "My face is only red because I'm really hot."

"It's two degrees in here. How on earth are you hot?"

Bad excuse. Nicole was right. I was freezing in the hallway.

I was silent.

"That's what I thought," Nicole said, "now, spill."

"Um…" I stammered, "I'm going to head into the band room."

I meandered into the band room, my checks still burning from the incident in the hallway. Nicole was right. I had been thinking of someone. Brian, the trombone section leader, had come into my mind, which was incredibly odd. I had no feelings for Brian whatsoever. Really. No matter how much Em teased us, no matter how much Brian section chastised him about it, there was nothing between us. Nothing.

Brian and I were in the same German class freshman year. We were both quiet, terrified freshman, and we both hated the teacher (ironically, the same teacher I had and still hated now.) When we both found the courage to talk, we hit it off right away. We were both hard core band nerds (Brian, like me, was planning to march corp this year) who loved reading, chemistry, and complaining about Frau Wasser. We'd been friends ever since. Next to Em, Brian was my best friend. Dating him would have been like dating my brother.

By now, the band room was starting to fill up. Beth had written on the board that would be starting music in… about five minutes. It would probably be a good idea to get my trumpet together.

I sat down towards the front of room and pulled out my beloved Xeno, Danny. Yes, I had named my trumpet. Most of my section at school had named their horns, the names ranging from normal (such George or Danny) to completely bizarre (one of my section mates had named their trumpet Shakakagaga. I didn't understand either.)

Another girl, I think her name was Christiania, came and sat down near me and started oiling her valves. My memory from last night was very fuzzy, but if I remembered correctly, she was a senior in high school, and she had proudly announced that she was the only member of her family that did not play the violin. She looked a little bit nervous as she sat hunched in the corner. I figured it would probably more polite to go over and talk to my new section mate than just staring at her. I grabbed my stuff and got up.

As I was getting up, the metronome started to blare, and I grabbed the nearest chair and sat down. I guess I would have to talk to her later.

"Good morning girls," Beth said, "How is everyone this morning?"

There were a couple goods, a couple grunts, and a lot of blank stares.

"That great, huh?"

There was a quiet snicker from the group.

"Well, since we had a chance to get to know each other last night, we're going to get right down to business today. Guard, you will be heading into the gym with the guard staff. Drumline, you will be in the theater doing the same thing you did at mini camp. Hornline, you will be in here with me working on the opener. Does anyone have any question?"

The room was silent.

"Okay then," Beth said, "everyone, break!"

The guard and the drumline left the room and the hornline started to arrange chairs. Trumpets were in the first two rows, followed by the mellos, then the baritones, and then finally the tubas. We spent a fair amount of time warming up and then handed out the opener.

When I first saw the music, I thought I had been handed the wrong part. The page was more black than white. In six years of playing, I had never seen anything like it.

This wasn't high school anymore.

I looked around the room. Thankfully, most of my section looked just as intimidated as I felt.

"So, what does everyone think of the music?" Beth asked somewhat sarcastically.

I glared at her.

"Okay, trumpets, I know the feature looks intimidating," Beth said, "but, I swear, it's not as bad as it looks."

Yea, right.

"Here, let's try it. We'll take it under tempo. Everybody, start at letter B, the trumpet feature."

I groaned. I brought my horn up to my mouth.

I got the first two notes out. I was pretty much lost after that. I tried to get back into it, but it wasn't happening. Thankfully, it sounded like everyone else was in the same predicament.

"Well," Beth said, after we had played the section, "that wasn't too bad."

The room got really quiet. Then we all burst out laughing.

"Okay," Beth admitted, "yea it was. Who wants to try it again?"

We all raised our hand.

We spent the entire morning hours working on the same section. By the end, I could play the first five notes instead of the first three.

I guess you could call that progress.


	12. Drum Major Sydrome

**Author's Note: I know about writer's block, but is there such a thing as writer's ADD? If there is, I defiantly have it. For the past month and a half, I've been starting new chapters before I finish the ones I've already started. However, there is a good side to this. I've got at least an outline for the next three to four chapters (which will take Kiwi through move-ins), so they should be coming out a lot faster that the past couple chapters have. After that though, I have some sad news. ROBAD will be going on yet another hiatus. I have finally figured out where I am going with this story, so I am going to be spending some time combining things, adding things, and taking out dropped plots line (there seem to be a lot of those.) This, needless to say, is going to take a while.**

**So, a Merry Christmas (or Happy Holidays I suppose, if you don't celebrate Christmas) to all and a Happy New Year. You know the drill. Leave some. And if you haven't already, join the facebook group. The link is in the author's profile.**

We took an hour and a half break for lunch before heading back to the trenches. We spent another hour hacking out music before Beth decided it was warm enough to head outside and start marching.

We set up to stretch in a big circle that was organized by not only section, but by height as well (ironic). I was on the shorter side, so I was towards the end of the section, between the girl I thought was named Cristina, and some blond haired girl that I couldn't even begin to guess her name. Was she even there last night?

We were silent during stretching, heads still spinning from this morning and fearful of what this afternoon block would bring. I was concerned. If the music had been that challenging, what would marching be like?

As I contemplated what the next few hours would bring, the woman I remember from auditions, Janice came on to the field, wearing the same brown jacket she had worn at auditions. Her black hair was tucked neatly under a baseball hat and her brown eyes looked intense. One look at her, and you knew she meant business.

By the time she reached us, we were done stretching and ready to get moving. Janice quickly made her way to the center of the circle and introduced herself.

"I know you all got a chance to do this last night, but I was trapped in Dullus International Airport, so I'll just do this now. My name is Janice Romano and before you all ask, yes I am Italian. My mother was born in Italy and both my dads parents are Italian. I speak the language some what, but I am far from fluent. I am 28 years old and I am a graduate of CCM having both my bachelors and masters in music.

As far as marching experience goes, I marched for a school somewhere in Texas that will not be named for four years. I then went on and marched with the Blue Devils for another four years. Oh, and for those of you that are already playing the guessing game, I am, in fact a baritone player,"

Someone on the other side of the circle mutter "I so called it" under her breath, making everyone laugh. I would have thought she was a mello player.

"On a more serious note, marching Blue Devils was possible the best experience of my life, and I want all of you girls to be able to have that same experience. However, that means I'm going to demand a lot from all of you. Not because I'm mean, but because I know that you can. You wouldn't have joined this corps unless you were willing to give one hundred percent of yourself. You will work harder than you ever have worked in your life and will be pushed farther than you ever thought possible. There will be times when you will absolutely hate this. But if you put everything you have into this, this will be one of the most amazing experiences of your life."

Janice paused, and then continued onward.

"So with that bit of inspiration, everybody block it up!"

Two hours and four miles later (or so it seemed) Janice lets us go from what was probably the longest basics block of my life. Janice seemed more interested in observing the group as a whole than correcting individuals (probably because she didn't know anyone's name yet). Janice, I quickly learned, was not a fan of going to rest. In the two hours of marching, we were only aloud to break twice. The marching itself hadn't been terribly intense (we spent a lot of time going over technique) but keeping my horn up for that long had. As we walked off the field, I could fell my whole entire body begin to ache.

"This is stupid," I muttered under my breath. I knew that I was probably out of shape from not marching for a year, but this was pathetic. I looked around the field. Now granted, I didn't know these girls very well, but no one looked as tired as I felt. I pulled my arms across my chest in a feeble attempt to stretch out. There was no excuse for my arms to hurt as much as they did. Even if I hadn't marched for a year, I had at least conducted. I felt incredibly pathetic.

"You look as if you might be suffering from drum major syndrome," someone said behind.

Damn. Was it that obvious?

I turned and behind me stood the blonde haired girl, whose name I could not remember. She stood next to me in the giant stretch circle.

"Julie," she said, sticking out her hand.

"Kiwi," I said, "and yes, I admit, I have drum major syndrome."

"Well," she said, jokingly "the first step to recovery is acceptance."

I laughed. I was already starting to like her.

"I feel really pathetic," I told her, "Everyone else looks fine and I'm dying. It's not like that was challenging or anything."

"Don't sweat it," she said, "I was drum major my senior year of high school, and I did far worse that you did at my first rehearsal camp with the Glassmen. And I will tell you; this was defiantly tougher than anything I had at a Glassmen rehearsal camp."

"You marched with Glassmen?" I asked.

"I did for two years," she said, "I loved it."

So that meant she was a sophomore in college. She was the same age as Lauren.

"Out of curiosity," I asked, "why did you come here if you loved it so much?"

"I needed a change," she said very matter-of-factly, "besides I live closer to here than Toledo, and the transportation costs were starting to get to me."

"Change," I said as I swung my arm over my head, attempting to stretch it out, "something I am not adapting to apparently."

I ate dinner at Uncle Mark's, took an aspirin, and felt much better. There had been a rumor going around before we left saying that we were having more bonding time tonight, which I was praying for. Not only did it give my sore arms a break, it gave me time to talk to Lauren about her whole Cadets' issue. It also gave me some time to hang out with Nicole, who I hadn't gotten to see at all that day. Unfortunately, if we were socializing, I could potentially be forced to talk to M-Cat, something that I was not at all interested in.

I came back to the school and huddled in the gym with the rest of the girls. No one had their horns or equipment out, so it looked like we might be socializing again tonight.

Beth came in and everyone covered their ears before the metronome began to blare. We all sat down on the hard gym floor.

"Tonight," Beth said, "instead of practicing, we are going to be playing truth or dare."

The room burst out laughing.

"You will be split up by section. There are two rules. First one is that dares cannot be vulgar or destructive. We're hoping to be able to use this building until move-ins in May, but if we trash this place, we're kind of out of luck. The second rule is that anyone can back out of a truth or a dare. I want this to be a fun experience for everyone. Nobody should go home from this weekend talking about how humiliating it was."

Some of the guard girls looked very disappointed. I, for one, was relieved. I was not a fan of truth or dare.

"So, everyone get with your sections and let's have some fun tonight. You've all worked hard today."

I found my section and we sat down in the back corner of the gym. After staring awkwardly at each other for a few moments, Julie finally spoke up.

"So," she said, "who wants to go first?"

"I will," said a small voice from the other side of the circle.

"Okay, Christine," Julie said, "truth or dare?"

"Dare."

Julie thought for a moment.

"Go in to the band room and steal a quad player's stick. Not a pair of sticks, just one singular stick."

"Isn't that boarder line destructive?" someone asked.

"Not if we return it in the same condition we found it in," Julie said with a mischievous smile.

Christine got up and raced out of the gym towards the band room. She returned several minutes later holding her prize high above her head. We applauded as she sat back down in the circle.

"Very nice," Julie said, "but what took you so long?"

"The battery was in there."

"Did they see you?"

"I don't think so," Christine said, "they were too interested in whoever they had dared to do the solider boy dance."

We all laughed.

"Do I have to give this back now?" she asked.

"Not if you don't want to."

Christine triumphantly put the stick in her back pocket and started looking around the circle.

"Kiwi, truth or dare?" she asked.

I put my head in my hands. I really hated this game.

"Truth," I said finally. While I knew that whatever came next would probably embarrass me into the next century, I was in no mood to go steal sticks.

"How'd you get the name Kiwi?"

I exhaled. While this was a slightly embarrassing story, I had been prepared for much worse.

"Well…" I started.

_It's our first day of band camp sophomore year and we are having our traditional "vets only" lunch. All the vets are split up in the lunchroom by section while the rookies are having lunch together in a room near by. We (the vets) are supposed to be talking about what we want from the season, but my section is doing anything but._

_Once we finish going through the latest gossip (you would be surprised how interested this group of guys was in that stuff), we started talking about the section shirts we were carefully designing._

"_And we'll get everyone's names on the back," Tony, our section leader says, "Although it might be a little difficult since we have twenty-one people this year."_

"_Nicknames or real names?" Craig, a fellow sophomore and the section goof, asks._

"_Nicknames, of course," Tony says "who wants there real name on the back of a shirt?"_

"_What if we don't have a nickname?" I ask quietly. While I am now officially a vet, I still sometimes feel incredible small and child like compared to these guys. _

"_Then I guess we'll put your real name on the shirt" Tony says, "but there are seven other Catlins in this band. We need to come up with a nickname for you."_

"_We could call you Shakakagaga," Craig says._

"_No," I tell him, "I will not have the same name as your horn."_

"_And besides," Matt, a junior, says, "that is a really lame name to begin with."_

_Craig looks highly indignant._

"_Oh no," I say, "I'm not getting into this. You two can fight it out while I go get some more fruit."_

_I get up and head towards the fruit bar, laughing at Craig and Matt fighting behind me. In the past season, we have all learned that they will fight over anything._

_I survey my option before deciding on a bowl of kiwi. I head back towards the table where Craig and Matt are still fighting. I am not paying attention, and totally miss that there is a pile of melting ice cream on the floor. That is, until I slip in it._

_I scream and come down to the floor with a thud. I let go of the bowl I have in my hands, which goes flying into the air and lands directly on my face. The noisy room suddenly goes silent. One of the drumline guys near me helps me up, and after assuring everyone that I am okay, the room erupts in laughter. I am humiliated, but laughing also as I sit back down at my table next to Craig._

"_Very nice Kiwi," he says, pulling a piece of kiwi out of my hair that I had missed. _

"And ever since then, that's been my name," I finished.

"That's horrible," a tall, red-haired girl exclaimed.

"For the first couple days, it was," I told her, "but then it was just really funny after that."

"Thank you for that, Kiwi," Julie says, "your turn now."

I looked around the room.

"Julie," I said finally, "truth or dare."

She thought for a moment.

"Dare."

"Go into the center of the guard girl circle over there," I said, pointing to the other side of the room, "stand on your head and act like a monkey."

"Ohh," she said "it's so on."


	13. The Case of the Missing Director

**Author's Note: I had a little extra time on my hands on the last day of break, so I figured that it would be a good opportunity to post another chapter. I can't say when the next one will be because we have exams in two weeks and, well, you know how that is. **

**So, onward! A happy New Year to all! May this year bring you health, happiness, and many more chapters of ROBAD. You know the drill. Leave some.**

I woke up Sunday morning to a world covered in white. Somewhere between eleven (when we finally finished playing Truth or Dare) and seven that morning, we had been hit by a snow storm, apparently common practice for Boston (or so Uncle Mark claimed). I would have been excited, except for my five o'clock flight home. However, the local forecast was hopeful; it was supposed to get up to forty degrees, so some of the snow would melt before I left.

Hopefully.

The snow forced us inside for the day, much to Beth and Janice's disappointment. I, personally, was grateful. While I didn't feel nearly as bad as I did yesterday, I was still a bit stiff. We had three more rehearsal camps and three weeks of intense move-ins before we left for tour. I was pretty sure we were going to be okay if we didn't get to march today.

We spent the morning in sectionals. Much like last night, Julie took charge after no one else would. I was not complaining. Even though I hadn't known Julie that long, I was really starting to like her. She was very laid back and liked to have fun, but she could also get work done without making everyone miserable in the process (some people in my section back home had yet to figure out how to do that). We spent most of the sectional hacking out the opener. While it was not even close to perfect, we sounded much better that yesterday. Correction: they sounded much better than yesterday. However, I was still playing terribly. I couldn't seem to play for the life of me. If anything, I had gotten worse, not better, since yesterday. And considering how yesterday had gone, I wasn't sure if that was possible.

I wandered into the hall after the sectional feeling tired and disappointed. While this morning's sectional had been fun, it had also been incredibly disheartening. These girls all proved to be very talented. I was really unsure whether or not I was going to be able to cut it.

"Hey you," I heard a familiar voice behind me say, "Wait up!"

I turned and saw Lauren at the other end of the hall.

"Are you eating lunch here?" she asked.

"Yea," I told her, "My Uncle and his family are going to church or something, so I'm staying here for lunch."

"Fantastic," she said, "I am too. Let me go grab my lunch and then we can find some place to sit and talk. You look like you are in need of some cheering up."

We walked around until we found a quiet hallway away from the noise of the chatty guard girls and the hacking drummers.

"So, how's life? How are things back home?" she asked.

I filled her in on the latest make-ups and break-ups in the band and told her about the upcoming drum line and winter guard seasons. I told her about Em and Brian's upcoming season with the Bluecoats and my college search. She listened intently, asking me questions and laughed at all the stupid stuff that was going on in the band back home. By the time I was done, I wasn't feeling so bad anymore.

"So," I said, "now it's your turn. Why are you here and not with the Cadets?"

"Well," she began, "It's a long story."

Apparently, after Beth Browning resigned from the Blue Devils, she took a job at Northeastern, where Lauren went to school. Ironically, Beth had seen the Cadet bass line at DCI's I&E competition and recognized Lauren. Beth (or as Lauren always called her, Professor Browning) was Lauren's Advanced Theory Professor and ran the Wind Symphony. When Beth finally got everything together and was sure that she was going to direct a crop this year, Lauren was one of the first people she came to. She knew that Lauren was a talented player and also (somehow) knew of her drum major experience. She asked Lauren if she would be interested in being drum major for the Dragons' first year.

Lauren, however, was not entirely sure at first. She had been contemplating leaving the Cadets since the end of the season. She was not entirely found of George Hopkins, and she had also had a nasty skirmish with one of the snares. Like Julie, Lauren was ready for a change. However, leaving was not that simple. She still liked the Cadets and had a lot of friends in the corp. When auditions rolled around in November, Lauren still wasn't sure.

She attended the vets' camp in early December, before the call backs for new members. The weekend went poorly, to say the least. The time off seemed to have made the fight between Lauren and Steve (the snare) worse, not better. She was still upset with Hopkins. At the end of the weekend, section leaders and captains were chosen. Steve was named drum line captain. At that point, Lauren was done. She came back to school the next week and told Beth that she had made up her mind. She wanted the spot.

"And so," she finished, "now I'm here."

"Wow," I told her, "that's impressive. To tell you the truth, I'm glad I'm not you. I wouldn't have wanted to make that decision."

"In truth, I'm excited," she said, taking a bite from her cookie, "I missed conducting and I missed being in charge, as selfish as that sound."

I smiled. I had always admired Lauren. She was an excellent leader and just a good person in general. I looked forward to marching under her again.

"Hey, I think we've got to get going. We supposed to run the opener this afternoon."

"Run, like the entire ensemble plays the opener together?" I asked.

"Yep," she said, "you better get in there."

"You've got to be kidding me," I mumbled. This was going to be a long afternoon.

I took what was becoming my typical seat between Julie and Christine. Sitting between them was no less than intimidating. Everyone already found out this morning that Julie (or Jules as she asked us to call her) was a fantastic player when she played the feature near perfect during sectionals this morning. Christine, while she was not as willing to play in front of people, defiantly had chops. No pressure sitting between them.

Beth wasn't in the band room by the time the brass were ready to warm up, so Lauren lead us through a quick warm up while we waited for the percussion to get settled. However, even after the pit and the battery were completely set up, Beth was still no where to be found. Lauren stood awkwardly on the podium for a moment before coming over to Jules and me.

"I'm going to go find Sarah," she whispered, "because I don't think the assistant drum major should be running the first entire corp practice by herself."

"What do you want us to do?" Jules asked.

"Just make sure no one kills anyone."

Lauren ran out the door while the rest of the corp sat quietly. As the time passed, the girls grew restless and the level of noise started to rise. Jules and I discussed trying to quiet them down, but we decided against it. Lauren's only instruction had been to make sure that no one committed murder. Compared to that, talking seemed pretty harmless.

It took Lauren almost a half an hour to find Sarah, and then they spent another forty five minutes looking for Beth (or at least that's what Lauren told me when she got back). By that time, it was two thirty. We had a half an hour left of practice, and we were without a director or any staff member for that mater. Sarah half heartedly ran the opener and then made the executive decision to send us all home. She and Lauren said we had worked hard this weekend, but there was no point in trying to run the opener for the first time without Beth. Since there was nothing else we could do with ten minutes left of practice, it was best we went home.

I quickly packed my horn up, thrilled that we had only had to play once this afternoon. I was acutely aware of just how much work lay ahead of me.

"Hey, are you still giving me a ride to the airport?" Nicole asked me as I was packing up my horn. I watched her closely as she twirled a single stick with her fingers.

"Yeah, of course. I told you we would," I said. Truthfully, I had forgotten about it until that moment. "What's with the stick? Don't they usually come in pairs?"

"Very funny," Nicole said, giving me a cross look as we started walking towards the parking lot, "I lost the other one sometime last night. Or somebody took it, but I can't figure out why anyone would take just one stick. Either way, I was missing a stick when I picked up my drum this morning."

The events of last night came back to me and I stopped dead in my tracks.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," I said, working very hard to keep a straight face, "That sucks."

It took a half an hour to drive to the airport, and then another half an hour to get checked in and go through security. Nicole had to run to make her four fifteen flight. I, unfortunately, did not have that problem. My flight got delayed.

I searched the terminal for someplace to sit while I waited for the plane to show up. I was exhausted. I finally found a quiet chair behind a Dunkin' Donuts. I figured no one would probably bother me there. I curled into a little ball and started listening to my iPod. In the search for Taylor Hicks, I some how wound up looking at my photos. Most of them, okay all of them, were from band. The first one was of Em and I leaning against Em's marimba after the parent show at band camp this past season. Em's hair is twisted and piled on top of her head to try and get some relief from the heat my white gloves are accented by the dark brown keys on the marimba. We both look tired, hot, and emotional, most likely because we were. Neither one of us had liked the idea of leaving band.

I flipped through some more pictures of various competitions, award ceremonies, and football games, until I saw one picture that made me burst out laughing. It was another picture of Em and I, except this time were sitting on a curb and soaking wet. I had my trumpet on my knee and Em was holding her mallets in her hand. We had later joked that these might as well have been our senior pictures, minus the fact we were soaking wet.

_Oh, and the fact we're completely pissed in that picture._

I rolled my eyes thinking back to that football game so very long ago.

_It's the third football game of the season and the sky is pelting down rain. We are all trying to run into the school to keep dry while we wait to see if the game will continue on. Unfortunately for Em, she has to sit out in the rain with the rest of the pit to make sure the truck gets loaded. Em is exhausted and sits down on the near by curb. After quickly examining my horn and determining that it is still a piece of crap, I sit down next to her. She sighs and runs her hand through her damp hair. She's tired and sick of the crap she gets for being assistant section leader. _

_Two of Em's section mates, Andrew and Marcy, both freshman vibe players, sit down next to her._

"_So," Andrew asks, "Once you graduate, who do you think will be the pit section leader?"_

_Everyone knew Em was going to be the pit section leader next year. She had beaten out two seniors to get the assistant section leader spot._

"_I don't know," Emmy says exhausted. This was the last thing on earth she wanted to be dealing with. _

"_Well…I mean it's not like there __are__ any sophomores or anything…" Marcy says._

_That is true. There had been no rookies in the pit last year. However, Em sees right through Marcy's words._

"_I don't know who's going to be section leader after I graduate. It's not like we pick our successor."_

_Em is in no mood to deal with this right now._

"_Well, I think its going to be me," Marcy says turning to Andrew, "because I played last year at Whitewood." _

_Marcy attended at small school called Whitewood that aloud their 8__th__ graders into their band because it was so small. She had no problem telling anyone who would listen about how great it was._

"_Well," Andrew says, "I think I'm going to get it because I'm playing the harder part."_

_This was true also. Andrew was second vibe while Marcy was third._

_Em sighs. Her endless patience is wearing thin. The least of her concerns is who is going to be section leader in two years. Andrew and Marcy continue there argument, growing more and more heated by the minute. _

"_You know what I think?" I say, getting annoyed, "I think neither one of you is going to get it if you keep acting like this."_

_Both Andrew and Marcy stare at me, then immediately look at Em, hoping she will disagree with me. _

_She simply nods, not trusting herself to speak._

_Andrew and Marcy are both left completely speechless and turn and leave._

"_Finally," Em mutters under her breath._

_I smile._

"_Freshman," I say, "already in a power struggle."_

_Kevin, the pit section leader starts yelling at Em to move equipment using a few choice words. _

_Em places her head in her hands._

"_I can't wait to march corp."_


	14. Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda

**Author's Note: Third chapter in less than two weeks! I'm on a roll here!**

**If you haven't already, check out **_**The 100 Drabble Project**_**. It's a collection of drabbles I'm writing using the characters of ROBAD. There are a lot of good little scenes from before the Dragons were ever formed.**

**Well, I've got nothing else to say. I'll try to post another chapter before exams start. I was a little disappointed by the lack of reviews. Even if you didn't like the chapter, tell me why. I'm new to all this and I really need all the help I can get.**

I made two resolutions when I walked off the plane. One was that I was going to nail that run before the rehearsal camp next month. I wanted to be able to play the opener to the point where I wouldn't I want to run and hide if we had to play it in full ensemble. I was well aware of the immense amount of practice that was going to require. I had a lot of work a head of me.

The other one was that I was going to start running more so I wouldn't want to die the next time we had marching basic with Janice. In truth, I didn't hold out a lot of hope for that one. Every year in January, I said that this year I was going to run more. And every year, I did not. As much as I hoped it would, I doubted that corp would be able change that unfortunate habit.

Life was chaotic when I got back to school. I had exams starting the Wednesday after camp. I thought they were going to kill me, but I somehow managed to pass with decent grades, even in German (but who cares about German anyway). Unfortunately, when exams finished, my life did not become any less stressful. Between school, work, and practicing I had very little time left for anything or anyone. And to top things of, life at home was not the best. Mackenzie was spending so much time with Mark at the house that I was about ready to pack up and move out. I really disliked the girl. I could feel my IQ drop every time I was forced to talk to her, and then she was just a bitch on top of that. I know, that's mean and I'll probably go to hell for that, but if you knew Mackenzie, you would feel the same way.

And to make life more chaotic, Frau Wasser assigned a massive project that was going to be worth a quarter of grade and gave us two weeks to do it. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn she was out to get me. The due date was the day I left for the February rehearsal camp. The only saving grace was that were allowed to work with partners, and my partner was Brian.

We agreed have a work session the Friday before it was due. I figured I could get at least an hour of practice in before I went over to Brian's. I was defiantly improving. While the opener was far from perfect, it was night and day compared to when I got it three weeks ago. The run was coming along, slowly but surely. I was hoping it would be like the tortuous and the hair story; that if I just kept going I would eventually win the race. (I had never heard of anyone comparing a piece of music to a race before, but I figured there was a first time for everything.) After two or so hours of practice I took a shower and headed over to Brian's house to work on the GPH (German project from hell). Not exactly my favorite way to spend a Friday night, but it was the only time we could really work on it and I desperately needed a good grade on this on this.

I rang the doorbell and waited patiently outside. I knew that I could have just walked in; the door was always unlocked and Brian's mother had told me more than once that I was welcome to come in at anytime. Still, after four years, I wasn't comfortable with it.

"Kiwi," Ms. Williams, "come in. You know you're always welcome."

"Thank you," I said coming inside the house, "What's Brian up to?"

"He's in the study," Ms. Williams said, "He's been there all afternoon. He only emerges every few hours to get food and complain about this project. You can go on in; he's expecting you."

The office was a mess of poster boards, open books, and website print-outs and in the center of this mess was the tall, skinny eighteen year old boy that we called Brian. His brown hair was messy and his green eyes were full of frustration. You didn't have to had known Brian as long as I had to tell he was mad.

"This project is going to be the death of me," he said without even looking up from his book.

"You say that on every project. And then you manage to pull of an A every time," I said sitting next to him on the floor.

"Yea, but this time I'm serious."

You wouldn't have guessed it by the tone of his voice. Brian was one of those people that you could always count on to be calm and level headed, regardless of the situation. He was the last to freak out if something went wrong.

I pick up the closest book to me, _Encyclopedia of German Tanks of World War Two_,and start to flip through. Out project was to make a poster and write at least a three page paper on the Germany military during World War Two in German. It was not fun by any means.

We spent the next four hour reading, translating, writing, cutting, gluing, stapling, and cursing Frau Wasser to the eighth level of hell. When we finally called it quits, we had a completed poster and a little less than two and a half page essay that covered everything from Adolf Hitler to Nazi tanks. We figured that we could write the last half a page during class sometime that week. Ms. Williams had ordered pizza for us, so we sat in the study and ate, celebrating our (almost) complete project.

"Did you here from UC yet?" I asked him after my third slice of pizza. Brain had applied for early acceptance at the University of Cincinnati. Unlike UCLA, who made there early acceptance decision very quickly, UC seemed to take its sweet time. Still, he should have found out by now.

"I withdrew. I got them to put my application back with all the regular ones."

"Can you do that?"

"You can if you make enough phone calls," he said, rolling on to the pillow he had brought in from his room.

I laughed.

"Having second thoughts?" I asked.

"I'm not really sure if I want to commit to one school yet. I'd like to see where else I get into first. You know, know all facts before I make a decision."

"Sound's like a yes to me."

Brian glared at me.

"So now you're forced to wait in agony with the rest of us."

"Yea, that part kind of sucks."

I laughed again.

"I hate waiting," I said, taking a sip of my drink, "I wish someone would tell me now."

"There's no way you won't get in," Brian said without a doubt in his voice, "you're too smart to be rejected".

I had always wished I had his confidence, but I never did.

"Kiwi! Think fast!"

I turned around just in time to get smacked with the pillow Brian threw at me.

"HEY! What was that for?! I didn't do anything to you!"

"Well, you were just sitting there. You can't expect me to just let you be, can you? You know me," Brian explained, defending himself.

"Well if that's how it's gonna be….PILLOW FIGHT!!!!"

Eventually the two of us forgot the pillows and resorted to poking and tickling. We finally ended our epic battle when I couldn't breathe, and he was laughing so hard he was crying. And for just a few moments the worries and stress of college, corp, and German projects from hell escaped me. At that moment, it really hit me how much I would miss Brian while I was on tour…

I was pretty sure that this rehearsal camp would be more intense than the last one. Now that we had had a chance to get to know each other, it was probably time to get down to business. I was prepared for this weekend to be different.

I was not prepared enough.

Friday night was simple. We had sectionals for the first two hours, and then ran the opener (with Beth this time) for the last two hours. All my practicing had paid off. It still wasn't perfect, but I felt confident enough to be able to play during full ensemble. Saturday was a lot like Friday. There were sectionals in the morning and then brass time in the afternoon. Now that I had the opener under my fingers, it was fairly low stress.

And then Saturday night happened and all hell broke lose.

I should have scene it coming when we were told to bring shorts to evening block if we had any. It was twenty degrees outside, and we were supposed to wear short to evening block. However, I did not. I went and had dinner with Uncle Mark and changed into shorts without thinking twice about it. I should have seen it coming when I walked into the band room and saw that hornline and battery were supposed to meet in the gym without instruments. Again, I did not. It finally hit me when I walked into the gym and saw everyone pacing around nervously.

Shit, I though, they're going to makes us run.

This had the potential to really, really, suck.

I waited nervously in a corner of the gym, quietly panicking. Based on past experience, I was not ready for what was about to happen.

A metronome went off and we all sat down, expecting Beth to speak. However, it was Janice standing in the center of the gym, not Beth. Before anyone had time to look for Beth, Janice started speaking.

"We were hoping to get outside today and be able to march, but since it's been way too cold to go outside, we've had to kind of change plans. We've decided that we'll give you a little taste of move-ins.

"Marching a Drum Corp show is different then marching a high school show. A DCI show is at least three times as long as a half time show and two minutes longer than any high school competition show. That doesn't sound like much, but if you do the math that means that a DCI show is twenty-five percent longer. That's a lot. And unlike any high school band, or college band for that matter, you will be moving for almost the entire show. I've seen the drill for the opener. With the exception of the trumpet feature, there is no park and play.

"The show that you will be performing is very intense. I'll just put it bluntly; it's hard. It will demand a lot from you not only mentally, but physically as well. When you walk off the field at finals, you will be in the best shape of your life. Trust me, I speak from experience. Just like with the music, you're going to need to start preparing now.

"During move-ins, you will have about an hour to two hour run after breakfast every morning. Yes, I know, no one wants to run that early, but you could be in the Cavaliers. They have a two hour run every night after they've practicing for twelve hour. So nobody whine or we just may resort to that. But move-ins are in May and it's February. So what are we doing now, you ask? We are going to run, much like we will during move-ins. Except this time, it's with a twist."

Oh dear god, I thought, I'm in trouble.

We all spread out and started stretching. Janice explained what we would be doing. It was fairly simple. We would run for two minutes, and then all do push-ups. Then run for four minute, push-ups, six minutes, more push-ups, and then eight minutes of running followed by a break. Then we would repeat, except doing sit-ups instead of push-ups.

I was pretty sure I was going to die. I hadn't been running since before I could remember.

As Nicole and I took off running, the room heated up like an oven on fast-forward. The heat, plus my being out of shape meant that I began feeling like crap before the first cycle was even over. I was really regretting not keeping my resolution of running right about then.

You know how everyone always says the first time is the worst? They're wrong. The second cycle felt like death. I was proud I was just able to hang in this far, but I was seriously considering taking that option of sitting out that Janice had given. And by the looks on everyone else's face, so were they. But no one wanted to be seen as a quitter, so I kept on pushing.

By the third cycle, I was wondering why I ever joined the Dragons. I could not do this any more. But I forced myself to keep going, determined to finish out. As the end was in sight, I was ready to be very proud I had lived through the experience. But then I was forced to sit out, seeing as I had thrown up.

Damn, NOW I remember why I was going to start running.


	15. Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

**Author's Note: Yikes. This stared out as one chapter and is now turning into three, meaning you'll have to wait a little longer for move-ins. There will not be any more updates this week, seeing that it is exam week and I will be studying and not writing (unfortunately). This would be a great time to check out (and review!) the 100 Drabble Project if you haven't already.**

**You know the drill. Reviews are always appreciated. As I said, I'm new to this and I need all the help I can get.**

I threw up three more times before I went to bed on Saturday, one less time than Nicole and one more time than Christine. We spent the first hour of practice on Sunday discussing the horrors of last night, sprawled out on the floor on a class room where we were supposedly having sectionals. Less than half the girls had finished out all three cycles and of those, only Jules had gone the rest of the night without throwing up. We were all impressed.

Janice released us from practice at noon, saying that we had all worked so hard this weekend that we deserved a break. I'm pretty sure it was because every looked like they were about to die. I slept the entire way to the airport and the entire time on the flight. Somehow, I was still exhausted and ached when I got home that night.

I was exhausted and in a great amount of pain when I woke up Monday morning. I contemplated staying home from school, but unfortunately, we had to present our German project, so that was out of the question. I grumbled, put on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and headed off to the hell hole that they called school.

I collapsed in the band room between Em and Brian as soon as I got there.

"Long weekend?" Brian asked.

"You have no idea," I said. I was still aching from Saturday.

Em snickered.

"Oh, how'd drumline go this weekend?" I asked.

It had been the drumline's first regional this weekend. We both knew Em was under a lot of pressure because of her being pit section leader and co-captain of the entire line.

"It was survivable. We had a pretty good show. They played well." Em said, "I have to say though it's not as much fun without you guys."

I smiled. Last year, Em, Brian, and I had all done winter drumline together (Brian was almost 6'3, which made him the perfect person to play bass five.) But now that both Brian and I were marching corp, we had decided not to do drumline, leaving Em all alone (as she constantly liked to remind us).

"Right now, even strength training with the cymbals sounds better than this," I said, trying to stretch. Everything still hurt.

"Are you really in that much pain?" Brian asked.

"Yes!"

Brian cocked his head.

"Turn," he instructed me.

I turned towards Em and Brian's massive hands begin to move in small circle around my shoulders.

"Brian, thank you so much."

"Good god," he said, "That is a massive knot."

"Yea, and that's not the only one."

Brian continued to rub my shoulders. He was the go-to-man if you ever needed a massage.

"What did they do to you?" he asked, putting intense pressure on my shoulder blade.

"I think we ran to the tenth level of hell and back."

"Is this what I have to look forward to next weekend?" Brian asked.

The Bluecoats had their first camp next weekend (because for some reason, the January camp was canceled), and whether Brian wanted to admit it or not, he was nervous.

"No," I said, trying to ease his fears, "You'll be fine."

Brian was in much better shape than I was. Brian, for one, had actually marched the past season, unlike me. Brian was also an avid runner. He'd started running sophomore year after his dad died as an excuse to get out of the house (the first few months after his father's death, he had his mom hadn't gotten along). However, soon after, it became clear that Brian had been bitten by the running bug. Brian loved to run. It wasn't uncommon to see him out running even after the most grueling practice. Where he found the energy for it, I didn't know. I figured that whatever the Bluecoats put him through couldn't possibly be any worse than what he put himself through.

"Brian," I said, "I stood on a podium all season and waved my arms around like an idiot. Until rehearsal camps started, I hadn't marched since WGI finals last April. You'll be fine."

Brian said nothing and instead exhaled loudly.

"See," Em said, "this is why I'm in the pit. No physical labor involved."

"Rub it in."

Em snickered and poked me in the stomach, which is usually what we did to each other when we can't think of anything to say.

" OW!" I screamed, "Emmy, that hurts!"

Em gave me a weird look, and I couldn't help laughing

"And it hurts to laugh," I said, clutching my stomach.

That made us all laugh.

I came home after school on Tuesday, dreading the afternoon. For the most part, I no longer felt like death. The worst of the ache had gone away (not to say I wasn't still in pain) and I figured it was probably a good idea to start running.

It had become painfully clear to me that I should have started running at the end of last season. Really running. Not the occasional mile or two that I put in when I needed to think (even if they were becoming more frequent). I had stood on a podium all of the past season and while I had enjoyed it, I was now regretting it. Most of these girls were in much better shape than I was. If I didn't get into some kind of shape soon, every day at move-ins was going to be a repeat of this past weekend. I needed to get my act together.

Unfortunately, there was a lot of work involved in that.

Currently, a lot of running.

I grumbled. I was still in some pain from the weekend. And it was cold.

Oh well, I had to start somewhere.

I grabbed my running shoes and headed out the door with my iPod in hand.

I started out at my normal pace, but forced myself to move faster. Clearly, what I had been doing before wasn't cutting it. The thing I hated about the cold was that it made it hard to breath. I was winded after the first mile and had to force myself to keep going, which was proving to be challenging. I couldn't let my mind wander, otherwise I'd slow down. Finally, I gave up after another half mile. I needed to go back home, shower, and get some homework done.

I was not looking forward to it.

I came home sweaty and lacking feeling in my hands and toes. I had been out in the freezing cold for way too long and I was exhausted. I hadn't gone running (with the exception of this weekend) since I didn't know when. I didn't make it to the shower before collapsing on the floor.

I woke up on my living room floor about an hour later. I took a shower, did my homework, did about a zillion sit-ups, and went to bed.

Frau Wasser was out to get me. She assigned yet another project the day I got back. We each had to record a ten minute CD of us talking about the history of Switzerland. We had a week to do it. I swear, that woman was trying to make our lives as miserable as possible. However, we were allowed to work with partners and Brian was my partner again. It was going to be another Friday night of Kiwi and Brian working on a GPH.

I came home on Friday, went on very painful run (it was bitterly cold and my knee was really bothering me), showered and went over to Brian's. Ms. Williams let me in telling me that Brian was in the garage and I could enter at my own risk.

Brian spent more time in the garage then he did in his own room. The garage, which he and his sister used as an entertainment/game/work out room, was small and scarcely decorated. There was a TV in one corner with a couple bean bags in bright colors that clearly his sister picked out. The other corner had an old beat up sofa and a couple tables that we had used for homework, sleeping, and various other things on over the past four year. In the corner farthest from the door was the treadmill, which Brian was currently on. He was running, plugged into his iPod and zoned out from the rest of the world. I wasn't surprised; running was as crucial to Brian's survival as oxygen.

It occurred to me that I should probably let Brian know I was here. His music was cranked up way to loud for him to hear me enter, and he was so zoned out that even if could hear me, he wouldn't notice. But I couldn't bring myself to disturb while he was running. I loved to watch him run, his long legs falling in an even rhythm and his mind off in another universe.

It took him five full minutes for him to realize I was there.

"Shit," he said, "how long have you been her?"

"Five minutes."

Brian swore again and then head for the door.

"Let me shower, or at the very least, change. Then we'll get to work."

Brian didn't like to waste time, especially when it came to school work. He was a serious student and a hard worker. That was one thing everyone knew about Brian. He was smart. He didn't wind up being fifth in a class of almost 700 students by luck. Brian was the opposite of me. He was quiet by nature, incredibly smart, and had a great sense of humor once you final got to know him.

"You know Brian, if you want to get to work now, we can. I really don't care."

"Yea, but I do."

Brian went upstairs, took the world's fastest shower, and returned a few minutes later wearing jeans and a clean shirt that I had never seen before.

"You look nice."

Brian cocked his head and gave me a funny look.

Crap, I thought. Did I just say that?

However, Brian did not give me the verbal lashing I was expecting.

"Thanks," he said. He looked like he was searching for something.

"Um, Brian, shouldn't we get to work?"

"Yea," he said, looking slightly disappointed, "I have some books over on the table."

He wandered over to the table and started going through his backpack.

Oh my. That was weird.

We somehow miraculously finished in three hours (I think Brian spent four minutes rambling about the history of the German language. What that had to do with the history of Switzerland, I don't know). I headed home as soon as we were done, grateful for the extra time to sleep. I had a lot to do this weekend.

As I headed towards my room, I realized that the light in Mark's room was on. Mark had probably forgot to turn it off before he left (he was somewhere with Mackenzie tonight). I rolled my eyes and wondered how my brother was ever going to make it by himself as I opened the door.

However, the scene inside Mark's room was very different. Mark was actually in there. He was lying face down on his bed making some very odd sounds.

Was he crying?

"Mark?" I said, gently shaking him.

Mark said nothing and simply looked up. One look at his face told me that I had guessed right. His eyes were all puffy and his face was red.

"Mark, what's wrong?" I asked. The last time I had seen Mark cry was when we were seven years old and he had gotten hit in the head with a baseball bat.

"Mackenzie broke up with me," he said flatly.

"Oh, Mark," I said, not knowing what to say. My brother went through girls faster than he went through underwear. He went through break-ups all the time. In fact, he was usually the one who did the breaking up. I would have never expected to see him so upset over getting dumped.

In a perverse way, I was happy that they broke up. I was so sick of that girl always being over at out house. As I had stated earlier, I really didn't like her. I was going to enjoy being able to home and not have to listen to her high pitched giggle anytime Mark so much as moved. Still, I didn't ever want to see my brother like this.

"What happened?" I finally asked.

"I don't know. She just told me that it was over and then went home. There was no discussion."

I sat, dumbfounded on the floor next to his bed.

"I'm so sorry, Mark. Is there anything I can do?"

"Could I just be by myself for a while?"

"Of course," I said getting off the floor, "Just let me know if you need anything."

I closed the door on my way out, still shocked by what had just had happened. Mark went through so many girls without a second thought. I had never seen him so upset over a girl. Then again, he had been with Mackenzie for almost five months, a record for Mark, who rarely stayed in a relationship for more than a month.

My brother was an enigma. The boy who never cried was crying over a girl who was just a pain in the butt. Still, I felt bad for him. I never wanted to see him in this much pain. Maybe he could see something in her that I didn't.

With Mark, you could never tell.


	16. Breaking Point

**Author's Note: As promised, I have returned from exam week with not one, but TWO new chapters of ROBAD (the other one will be up in about a half hour). Thank you for the reviews, they are always appreciated. **

**This first part is an attempt to pick up a drop plot line, but I'm not sure how this will work. Kiwi doesn't strike me as a high school drama girl. I might end up cutting it all together. Tell me what you think.**

The weekend did not improve a whole lot. Mark spent the rest of the weekend sulking in his room. He didn't say much when he did come out, he just usual grabbed whatever he needed and then left. I had never seen him so upset over a girl.

My weekend was not fantastic either. I ate, slept, practiced and ran, and managed to do a little homework on the side. It was pretty bad to put it bluntly. I contemplated cutting my run short on Sunday because the pain in my knee was so bad, but I figured that it was nothing and it would probably get better if it I kept going (that is what they call an ignorant decision.) If anything, it got worse.

I was actually looking forward to going back to school on Monday, hoping that it might be a nice change of pace from a rather depressing weekend.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

"We need to talk," Em said as soon as I walked into the band room that morning.

She dragged me out into the hallway and quietly explained the current situation to me.

"I'm doing WHAT?!?" I asked her when she finally done speaking, "You've got to be kidding me."

Em shook her head.

"Does anyone actual believes her?"

"I don't think anyone believes M-Cat anymore," Em said calmly, "but I figured you should be warned. You know that everyone going to ask you if it's true."

"Thanks," I said, "This girl has quite the imagination. I've never heard of someone being kicked out of a corp the during the second rehearsal camp."

"Why does she hate you, again?" Em asked.

"I can't tell you for sure." I said, "I think she liked Brian and she asked him to homecoming, but he was already going with me and he didn't even like her to begin with. So instead she got really ticked at me and kept telling people that I took Brain from her or something ridiculous like that."

"All I remember was that you guys got into a massive fight after practice one night. It was creepy; I thought someone was going to die."

"Yea," I said, "I thought she was going to kill me or something. She called me every word ever known to man and a couple new ones. It was scary."

"Well, I guess that you did something right, because up until now, she's been pretty sedate."

"I guess."

In truth, the only thing that stopped her from killing me was the fact that Brian came up and told M-Cat to go crawl back into the hole she came from (that's a direct quote, by the way). Until that point, it was getting nasty. I shuddered; even though I had forgotten most of my epic saga with M-Cat (once Brian told her off, she shut up and left us both alone), I was still not proud of some of the things I said that night.

The thing that I still didn't understand was why she was so set on having Brian. Not that he was the type of person you wouldn't want to go out with. He was a nice guy. He was both bright and articulate, and he was funny as hell. And even by shallowest guard girl standards, he wasn't all that bad looking. Brian was built like a runner; tall and slender, even skinny, with long legs and thin shoulders. He was clean shaven and actually bothered to get a regular hair cut. He had stunning green eyes that looked like emeralds. The thing was he wasn't exactly the type of person that M-Cat tended to date. Since freshman year, she'd dated at least ten football players and even more drummers, all who were barely passing class, incredible obnoxious and looked a lot like Justin Timberlake. I couldn't understand why she wanted to go out with Brian so badly. But, nonetheless, she did, and when he told her he wasn't interested, she blamed me (lord knows why).

"Look, I really don't think it's a big deal," Em said, "I just thought I should tell you so you wouldn't be completely floored the first time someone asked you.

"Thanks," I told her, "I appreciate it."

The bell rang for first period.

"Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho," I said unenthusiastically, "It's off to German I go."

I was pretty sure this wasn't the end of my problems for the day.

Unfortunately, I was right.

German was incredibly boring that day. After I finished my physics homework, I put my head down and tried to catch on some sleep. When I woke up, Brian was working on an English paper that wasn't due for three weeks and Frau Wasser was in the middle of lecture number thirty-four on the evils of cell phones (in German, of course). I guess somebody's cell phone had gone off while I was sleeping. That, or she was just having a really bad day. I was hoping it was not the latter.

I tried to feign interest for the rest, just in case she was in a bad mood. I will tell you, it was challenging. I somehow managed to pretend to pay attention for the last ten minutes before the bell rang and I sprinted towards the door.

"Miss Peterson, I need to speak with you."

Shit. She was speaking in English. I was in trouble. She must have caught me sleeping.

I turned slowly and walked back towards Frau Wasser's huge desks.

"I received you request to have your grade submitted early."

Since I was missing almost the entire month of May because of move-ins, I had to start dealing with the paper work now. I had to request have all my grade submitted a month early so they could calculate weather I would graduate or not. None of my teachers had had a problem so far. Since three of my classes were AP classes, they would be pretty much over by the time I left (I was leaving after the first week of exams). None of my teachers were really upset about it.

Except for Frau Wasser.

"I've been looking at my class plans for the month of May. The more I look at them, the more I think I can't submit your grades."

I stared at her blankly. I couldn't believe she was doing this.

"So, in short, if you are not willing to stay for the last three weeks of school like everyone else, then I will have to give you an incomplete on your transcripts."

What?!?

"Are you serious?" I asked her before I could think of better way to phrase it.

"All your other classmates are willing to finish out the year. I cannot grant special privileges to those who simply do not choose to finish out the year."

"This isn't a choice. I have to be there," I stammered.

"As far as I can see, you chose to do this marching band thing that interfered with school. Therefore, you are choosing not to come to class, and I will not make exceptions for you."

For the love of god women, I thought, this isn't some "marching band thing". This was DCI. This was the chance of a lifetime. It was the equivalent of playing pro football.

I looked at her with pleading eyes.

"There will be no further discussion on this."

I stood there completely stunned until I realized the bell for second period had already rung. There was no point asking for a pass, so I sprinted out the door.

I couldn't believe this. She was going to give me an incomplete because I wasn't going to be there for the last weeks of school? Are you kidding me? It wasn't like I needed this class to graduate; I was fin there. But if a college gave me a scholarship, they would want to see my second semester grades. An incomplete in an AP class would make most college officials think that I was unable to do college level work, making them revoke my scholarship, and possibly withdraw my acceptance. All because my German teacher had to be a bitch.

I tried to force myself to maintain composer as I walked down the halls. I was probably overreacting. It was just one class, and it wasn't like having an incomplete in German was really going to affect my performance as a Chemistry major. Colleges knew that.

I made it two steps in the door before I burst into tears and Miss Lauro, my Calc teacher, sent me to bathroom telling me that I didn't have to come back for the rest of the period. That was the nice thing about having such a young teacher; she still remembered what it was like to be in high school.

I walked to the bathroom and poured cold water on my face. I couldn't break down now; it was only second period, I told myself. I had to make it through the rest of the day of school. I was not aloud to start crying.

I took five minutes to clean myself up before I headed back to class. I sat down in my seat, pulled out my binder and mouthed 'I'm fine' to Miss Lauro, who was giving me a very suspicious glance. I shoved the memories of Frau Wasser and M-Cat to the back of my brain. I had other things to do.

The rest of my day was pretty similar to the first part. It was a slew of forgetting books, forgetting homework and occasionally getting pissed off and wanting to cry.

I don't have time to get upset, I reminded myself. I've got other things to do.

I came home after school exhausted. It had been one of the longest days I could remember, and there was still so much to do. We had been given the second movement this week via e-mail, and on glance at it made me realize that I had to start working on it today. On top of that, I still had to finish all my homework and run.

Bleh.

I pulled out my horn and started hacking away on the second movement. I sounded awful. Maybe it was the fact that I was tired, maybe it was that today had been mildly traumatic, or maybe it was the fact I just suck; I don't know. Regardless, I was doing terribly.

Who am I kidding, I thought. I would never be able to play as well as these girls. Maybe M-Cat tale had some truth to it. Maybe I didn't deserve to be a Dragon.

After about an hour, I gave up. There was no point. I change and head out the door.

I started out normally, but I forced myself to go faster. And then faster. Ten minutes in and my knee was killing me. But I didn't slow down. I was so discussed that I couldn't even go ten minutes at this speed without some problem that I forced myself even faster (if you haven't noticed, at this point all logic had escaped me). I went further that I had probably ever gone. When I hit the hour mark, felt like I was going to die. My knee was screaming with pain, but instead of going home, I ran even further because I was so discussed with myself for not being able to go this far.

Finally, my feet (the only sane part of me left) took over for my brain and lead me back home. When I finally made it in the door, all I wanted to do was take a shower, but instead I collapsed on the floor and started doing sit-ups. I had no idea why; I was exhausted and my knee hurt. But I felt like I had to keep going that if I stopped now I would I would never be able to start again.

I was on about my fiftieth push up when Brain walk into the room, hot and sweaty from his own run. Apparently, I had forgotten to shut the door

"Kiwi, what the hell are you doing?" he asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"Push-ups" I said, "What does it look like? And why are you here?"

"You leg's spazing," he said looking at my right leg.

"I'm fine," I said, lying through my teeth.

"Damn it, Kiwi," Brian said, "Stop, you're going to hurt yourself."

"I told you I'm fine" I said. But by now my knee was on fire.

"Kiwi, stop!" Brian yelled, "You're going to hurt yourself more than you already are."

"I… am… FINE!" I yelled. The pain was unbearable.

"Kiwi!"

My leg gave out and I collapsed, crying. Crying from the pain, crying because of the whole ordeal with M-Cat, crying because of the whole thing with Frau Wasser, crying from not being good enough, crying because I no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get anything right. I cried harder than I had cried in a long time.

Brian gently rolled me over on my back and sat me up. We sat there, me crying and him holding me, for a long time.

"Let me look at it," he said quietly.

He picked up my leg and began to move it. I gritted my teeth.

"Well," he said, "I'm no doctor, but I don't think you tore anything. I'll wrap this for you, we'll ice this tonight and I'll take you to the athletic trainer tomorrow. You might need a brace."

I stared at him.

"Hey, I've been running since I was sophomore year," he said, as if he read my mind, "you would hope I would have learned a couple things by now."

"Thanks," I said.

"Here," Brian said, finishing wrapping my knee, "let's get you on to the sofa."

Without saying anything else, he picked me up and carried me to the couch.

"Brian," I said, the pain in my knee starting to subside, "that was impressive."

Brain shrugged his shoulders.

"You don't weigh much."

"Why are you here?" I asked when the tears finally stopped.

"I wanted to check up on you. I heard about the whole M-Cat thing. I saw the front door open and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

We sat there quietly for a moment. I wanted to thank Brian for coming and saving me from myself, but I was struggling to find the words.

"Brian…" I said, trying to start.

However, I never got the chance to finish. At that exact moment, Mark came home from track practice.

"You ran on a bad knee again, didn't you?" were the first words out of his mouth when he saw me.

"I... How do you know?" I muttered.

He looked at Brian.

"How bad is it?" Mark asked, clearly at Brian, not at me.

"Not awful. She can move it. But I don't think I've ever seen her cry like this before." Brian says, looking down at me with his big green eyes, full of concern.

"You know I'm still here?" I interjected.

"Here, let me go change," Mark said, running up the stairs.

Brian sat down on the coffee table next to me.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

He played his hand on my forehead and brushed away a stray hair that had fallen on my face. It was a simple motion, but its effect was electric. Chills went up and down my spine and my whole body went numb.

"Yea," I said, looking up at him, "I think I am."

We sat there quietly for a moment, his big green eyes looking intently at mine.

"All right," Mark said, returning from his expedition to his room, "let's look at."

He inspected my knee closely, moving it back and forth.

"I think you're alright," he said, "but I'd really like to take you to the ER to make sure that you're okay."

The look on Brian's face was a mix between disbelief and shock. Had I not lived in the same house with Mark, I would have had the same look. Mark and Brian, while they didn't dislike each other, weren't friends by any means. Mark's poor grades and usual oblivious nature made him one of last people you would ask for medical advice. However, what Brian didn't know was that Mark had almost had to give up running his sophomore year because of knee problems. He spent countless hours in doctor offices and physical therapy. I had never seen Mark want something so bad or work so hard in his life. If someone knew about knee problems, I figured it was probably him.

However, that did not mean I was willingly going to the hospital.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," I lied, "probably just overuse or something."

"The way you've been running, that wouldn't surprise me," Mark said, "but I'd rather you get it checked out to make sure."

"No, please, no!" I whined, "If Mom finds out about this, she'll flip. She'll take any reason to keep me from marching this summer."

I looked at Brian pleadingly. One look at him, and I knew I wasn't getting out of it.

"He's got a point," Brian said, "It'd suck to not be able to march this summer because you refused to get your knee looked at."

Mark ran out of the room, clearly in search of something.

"But my mother…" I pleaded.

"We'll think of something," he said. I could already see the wheels turning in his head.

Mark returned with car keys in hand.

"Brian, a little help?" he asked.

Without saying a word, Brian picked me up and headed out towards the car.

Five hours later, Mark and I quietly slipped in side the house. Actually, Mark slipped in quietly. I was forces to loudly hobble because I was on crutches.

Yes, much to my dismay. I was on crutches, at least for the next three days. After 5 hours in the ER and about 10 x-rays, I was told that I didn't break anything, and that it was probably just a sprain. I was told to stay off it for the next three days, and then to see my doctor in two weeks. I was not to run between now and then.

No one had to tell me how much this was going to suck.

Mark had called home around seven telling Mom that he was with his track friends playing ball at somebody's house and that he wouldn't be home until late. Then I called and told her that I was with Emmy and that we were going to a movie and wouldn't be home until late. She told Mark and me the same thing: we better be home by midnight, because she wasn't waiting up.

We walked in the door at 11:58. Mark helped me up the stairs and I feel asleep as soon as I got into my room.


	17. Once Upon a Prom

**Author's Note: Second chapter as promised. Not really sure how I feel about this one. I don't think I did Brian and Kiwi justice.**

**Next chapter: move-ins! It will be nice to be back with the Dragons.**

**And a note to the "real" Nicole: most of the stuff you asked for is coming. It's just not posted yet. Have patience.**

It was weeks after what was now being referred to simply as "the incident" (because my parents still didn't know what "the incident" was) and I was blinking hard trying to focus on the alarm clock. After blinking a couple more times, I realized that it was 5:45.

Damn, I thought, it can't be time to get up already.

I really shouldn't have been complaining. Today was Friday, which meant I got to sleep in (if you could call a quarter to six sleeping in). Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I got up a 5:45, ran four miles, went to school, went to work, came home slept for an hour, did homework and went to bed. Tuesdays and Thursdays were not quite as pleasant. I got up at five, ran two miles followed by an hour or so of calisthenics, and then went on with my day. Saturday was a little different. I got to sleep until whenever (or until whenever I had to go to work), but then I came home and had a five to six mile (or more) run. Sundays were my favorite. I got those off.

I came down stairs and started working on eating breakfast. Mark came down and inhaled his bagel before I got even half way through my cereal.

I hate the appetite of a teenage boy, even if that boy was my brother.

Mark waited until I was done with my breakfast and then I asked if I was ready. I told him I was and we headed out.

Next to Sunday, Friday was my favorite because Mark came with me. Actually he came with me on Thursdays also, but my hate of the hour of calisthenics overshadowed that. I liked running, and as I was discovering that, that was about all I liked. I loathed the hour I spent in the mock gym in garage twice a week, even if Mark was there.

This whole thing was Marks idea to begin with. Since I had gotten clearance from the doctor after "the incident" Mark had been a different person. He had sat down, told me that he understood how much marching corp meant to me (that was shocking), and that he wanted me to get there without getting hurt again. In these past weeks, he had become a different person. He now had time to help everyone. He ran with me twice a week, despite his grueling track schedule. He was the caring brother that I had seen occasionally all the time now. He started turning in articles, real articles, to the school paper. His grades were decent for the first time in probably his entire life. He was having a great season; he was a co-captain and a lot of people were looking at Mark and saying "state." He was now semi-seeing a girl in my AP physics class, Parker, who both I and my parents liked very much. And to top it all off, he was the happiest I had seen him in a long time.

We continued onward, up and down a series hills on the road. I turned towards Mark, who was smiling ear to ear at six a.m., despite being a total anti-morning person.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew

Mark blushed like a third grader.

"I knew it," I said, laughing, "you've got Parker on the brain."

Mark turned a deeper shade of red.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Nothing. I think it's cute. I'm happy for you."

"Don't jinx me. I have a date tonight."

"Ohhh…" I said, "where are you going?"

"Dinner. And then were going to see a movie."

"What movie?"

"I don't know," Mark said, "I told her she could pick."

"You know you're going to end up seeing some chick flick."

"Shut up," Mark said, punching me in the shoulder, "Parker's not that cruel."

I laughed and then we went back to being quiet. Mark picked up the pace, and I followed without too much problem. I had to hand it to Mark. He knew what he was doing. I was now able to run further and faster and felt about a million times better doing it than I had before the fiasco started. I was pretty sure that if everything continued as planed, I was going to be in pretty good shape when move-ins rolled around.

We were about a half mile from home when Mark issued the challenge.

"Race you back," he said.

I looked at him sideways, unsure of whether to take him up on it or not.

"All right," I said finally, "I will. Winner gets first shower."

"It's on!" Mark shouted, loud enough to wake the entire world.

He sped off down the street, and I following right behind. Even though we had been getting along better recently, we hadn't lost our natural competitiveness that came with being twins. We stayed on each others heels until the very end, when Mark was able to sprint ahead and beat me.

"I win!" Mark shouted, doing a little victory dance in the front yard. I simply nodded, too out of breath to answer.

Mark looked at his watch.

"Not bad," he said "29:19"

"That's almost a full minute better than last week," I said, both happy and surprised.

"Don't look so shocked. You've put in a ton of work this week. I think you could show a couple of the guys on the team a thing or two about work ethic."

Mark was now not only my coach, but my motivator also.

"You still think I can get it under twenty-five before I leave?" I asked. That was my goal before I left. I wanted to be able to run the four miles in under twenty-five minutes.

"Work like you did this week," he said, "and as long as you stay healthy, I see no reason why not."

I was in a good mood when I got to school that day. I had gotten an acceptance letter from Boston University the night before, and I had even gotten a scholarship that would pay for about half my tuition. It still meant I had to come up with fifteen thousand dollars for the first year, but it sure as hell beat the alternative.

I was thrilled.

"I hear that congratulations are in order," said a voice behind me while I was putting my horn in my locker.

"Thank you Brian," I said without turning around, "Heard from anywhere yet?"

"Nope," he said, "still waiting."

He seemed to be doing an awful lot of waiting.

"But on a different note," he said, "I was wondering if you would be interested in going to Prom with me. That is, if someone hasn't come and beat me to it."

"Brian," I said, still digging bric-a-brac out of my locker, "I would have told you if I was going with anyone. And yes, I would love to go with you. I had a great time at homecoming." Brian and I had gone to homecoming as friends, and for some reason, I had really been hoping that he would ask me to Prom.

"Well, in that case…"

I turned and there stood Brian holding a single red rose.

"For you."

"Brian it's beautiful. Thank you."

I inhaled the fresh sent of the flower. I loved roses.

"Told you," I heard Em say as she came towards me and Brian.

Brian turned completely red in the face.

"He didn't know what flower to get you. I told him roses always work."

Brian stood motionless. I laughed.

"Well then, I thank you on behave of myself and Brian, who seems to have temporarily lost the ability to speak."

Em laughed and Brian became even redder. He looked so funny that I couldn't help but laugh.

That's when he finally smiled.

I went through school on autopilot. It was the middle of April and most of my teachers we freaking out because we were three weeks away from the AP exams. I was trying to juggle regular homework, review session, and all of the work I was missing because of move-ins. Life was slightly insane.

I had finished most of my work for both Physics and English. Physics was an AP class so we weren't doing a lot after the AP exam (which I was really concerned about) and my English class was all seniors, so our teacher had given up teaching in about February. Miss Lauro hadn't even given me anything. She told me to have a good time. As of the moment all of my grades were above a C so it was looking like I wouldn't have to take exams (seniors who had a C or better in the class didn't have to take a final). I still, unfortunately, had a pile of German to do.

My dad had been so angry when he heard that Frau Wasser was refusing to let me make up the work that he had called the school and demanded to have a meeting with both Frau Wasser and the principal. He went on a long tirade about how unfair it was to punish a student who had never been a behavior problem, always did their work, and got good grades for missing the last three weeks of school because of a perfectly legitimate excuse. He said that if I had been an athlete missing for some athletic excuse, that there wouldn't have been any problem. Mr. Darby, the principal, only had to give Frau Wasser one look before she said that she might have spoken to soon and that she would see if she could work something out. She gave me all the assignments the next day.

I contemplated staying for a Calc review, but I decided to be a bad student and head home. It was a beautiful day and I was looking forward to going home and not doing anything.

I got into my car, rolled down the windows and put Michael Bublé's _It's Time_ into the CD player. Brian had given it to me for my birthday last month and was quickly falling in love with it. I drove home, thankful for the beautiful day and not having anywhere to go or anything to do.

My cell phone rang at a red light halfway between school and home. I debated whether or not to answer it before finally digging it out of my bag.

It was Brian.

"Talk to me."

"Hey, I forgot to ask you what color your dress was."

Crap. I was supposed to do something tonight.

"I'll get back to you on that."

The light turned green.

"Hey," I said "I got to go. I'll call you tonight."

I hung up and made a U-turn in the closest parking lot, feeling like a total idiot. I had been so excited that Brian had asked me to prom that I forgotten that I was supposed to go dress shopping with Emmy that afternoon. I sent Em a quick text telling her I would be late and headed towards the mall as Michael sang on.

_No, you don't know the one  
Who dreams of you at night  
And longs to kiss your lips  
And longs to hold you tight  
Oh I'm just a friend  
That's all I've ever been  
'Cause you don't know me_

The mall was packed with people. While most of the girls had already gotten their dresses, they were now in a flurry to find matching shoes, matching purse, matching whatever. Em and I had been so busy with school, rehearsal camps, and work that we really hadn't even had time to go get our dresses yet. Em wasn't sure if she was even going until Sammy, the pit assistant section leader and her on and off boyfriend since Nationals, asked her. They were currently off, but it looked like Em was hoping that they might be on again after Prom.

"Took you long enough," Em said when I finally made it to the food court.

"Sorry," I said, "I guess it slipped my mind or something."

Em pointed me in the direction of the closest store.

"We have a lot of work to do."

We spent the next few hours bouncing from store to store, trying on dress after dress. Em finally decided on a lavender dress with a puffy skirt. I somehow wound up getting a green halter dress with a ridiculously low back.

"It looks fantastic," Em said as I paid for the dress, "I think Brian's eyes will pop out of his head."

"First off, I don't care what Brian thinks. We're just friends. I don't like him or anything. And second, it's so low cut; I feel like I'm exposing myself to the world."

"Stop being so over dramatic," Em said, rolling her eyes, "It looks great."

I wasn't so sure.

"Kiwi, will you come out? Brian and Sammy are going to be here any minute."

I pulled my dress up again. Why in god's name did I let Em talk me into buying this?

"KIWI!"

I couldn't procrastinate any longer. I unlocked the door.

"You look amazing," Em said as I emerged from the bathroom.

"I feel like a slut."

"Shut up. You look great."

I guess you could say that. Minus the slightly skimpy dress (it really wasn't that skimpy. I was just horrible self-conscious.) I looked alright. Em had done my hair this morning and it looked fantastic. I was wearing make-up and even had my nails done.

I guess I didn't clean up too bad.

"The boys are going to be here and I think your mother is going to flip if she doesn't get to take pictures," Em said, dragging me down the stairs.

Oh yes, I thought, that would be my mother.

Brian, Em, Sammy, myself, Mark, and Parker were all meeting at my house to take pictures before Em and our dates had dinner at a local Italian restaurant and Mark took Parker to where ever they were going. It was a big secret.

Parker and my brother were now official. He had finally gotten the nerve to ask her out about a week ago. Mark was head over heals for her and it was hilarious. She wasn't Mark's typical girlfriend; she was smart and funny and not a cheerleader (or equivalent). Regardless, he was happy.

The doorbell rang and I opened the door, fearing what was about to happen.

"Holy Crap! Who are you and what did you do with Kiwi?"

What a great way to be greeted.

"Nice to see you too Brian," I said, turning away. I couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed.

"No," Brian said, grabbing my hand and pulling me back, "I didn't mean it like that. You look beautiful."

I could feel myself turning red.

"Thanks," I said quietly, "you don't look so bad yourself."

Tall and slender Brian looked great in his black suit and dark green tie that matched my dress. He had always cleaned up well, but it seemed that I was just noticing it now.

We took about a million pictures (thank you Mom) before we finally headed out to dinner. Dinner was enjoyable; we were cracking jokes and discussing college and our upcoming summers on tour. Actually, Em, Brian and I talked about that. Sammy was a junior, so he was just starting to think about all of that. As we finished dinner though, you could tell that there was only one thing on Sammy's mind tonight: Em. I laughed quietly to myself. We were in a wild ride.

The theme this year was "Once Upon a Prom". The gym had been made to look like scenes from the fairytales we read as children. Repunzle's braid was hanging in one corner with a fierce dragon in the other. In the dark light, it didn't look as hokey as I had predicted in the car ride over. Maybe it was the fact that school was almost over, or that it was one of the last times I would have with my friends before I left for tour, or maybe it was the just the fact that it was my senior prom, but something that night made our sweaty old gym seem magical.

I searched the gym for my other friends. I found most of them in the back corner which had been known as the "bandie corner" at every dance since freshman year. Most of the girls were clumped together giggling and admiring each others' dresses while their dates stood back and watch. I participated in the chaos while Em and Sammy danced every song like it was a slow song. Brian disappeared shortly after seeing the giggling mess of girls, so I had to go find him after I finished comparing dresses, shoes, hair, and whatever else was prom related.

I wondered out to the back commons area in search of my missing date. I didn't see him, but I did see Sammy standing in the corner drinking punch.

"Have you seen Brian?" I asked.

"Nope," he said, staring of into the distance.

"Where's Em?"

"Bathroom."

That gave me just enough time.

"Sammy, you and I need to have a little chat."

He finally looked at me, eyes wide with fear.

"Sammy, I think you're a good guy, I really do. But Em's my best friend. And you don't get many people as kind and wonderful as her. She deserves a little more than good guy. She deserves a great guy.

"I'm not telling you that you're not good enough for her. I'm just saying that she deserves to be treated better than you treat her now. She is not a light switch; you can't simply be her boyfriend when it's convenient and then dump her when it's not. Neither Em nor I have a lot of time left here before we leave and neither one of us want to look back on this time and have regrets. So if you're going to get back together with Em tonight, you're going to have to shape up. Are we clear?"

Sammy nodded slowly.

"And if you break her heart again, I will break every last bone in your body."

The junior looked up at me, terrified.

I could be very scary when I wanted to be.

Em emerged from the bathroom with a very quizzical look.

"Are we ready to go?"

Em took Sammy's hand and we all walked down the hall. I laughed quietly as I watched Em and Sammy walk out the door to the outside that was connected to the gym. Who knew what would happen to them, and in truth it didn't matter (as long as Em didn't get hurt). For now, they were happy and that was all I could ask for.

The DJ announced that this would be the last song of the night. The song started playing and everyone screamed.

How appropriate, I thought, Carrie Underwood's _Ever Ever After_.

Brian reappeared from where ever he had been.

"May I have this dance?" he asked.

"Of course."

Because Brian was much taller than I was, it felt awkward to put my hands on his slender shoulders. He didn't seem to mind though; he just carefully wrapped his hands around my waist and we started to dance (or something similar to it).

"Have you seen Em?" he asked after a few moments.

"I think she's outside with Sammy."

"Oh…" Brian said, confused, "did they lose something?"

"No," I said, looking over Brian's shoulder and out the open door, "I think they found something."

We continued on, the music filling the gym.

_No wonder your heart feels it's flying  
Your head feels it's spinning  
Each happy ending's a brand new beginning  
Let yourself be enchanted  
You just might break through_

"Do you believe in happy ever after?"

Leave it to Brian to go on yet another philosophical voyage in the middle of prom.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, "I haven't found mine yet."

I looked into Brian's green eyes, filled with emotion. He had that same expression he had when I told him he looked nice in the garage. He was searching for something.

"Kiwi…" Brian said, leaning a little closer to me.

The music stopped and all the lights in the gym went on. Brian looked severely disappointed as he pulled himself away from me.

"Should we go get Em and Sam?" he asked.

I turned him around and he saw them standing outside.

"Never mind."

I laughed as Brian took my hand and led me out of the gym, just like a gentleman.

"What do you say we scrap after-prom and just head to Starbucks for a while? My treat."

"I think that sounds great." I really didn't want to go to after-prom anyways.

"Can I borrow your cell real quick?" I asked.

"Why?"

"Because Em and Sammy will be looking for us at after prom and I want to let them know where we are. And I left my phone in your car."

"I doubt they'll even make it out of the car, let alone inside to look for us."

"Brian!" I said, punching him in the shoulder, "that's horrible."

Brian shrugged and didn't let go of my hand.

We made our way through a maze of couples who didn't realize how well lit the parking lot was towards Brian's car. Brian, still being a gentleman, went and opened my door for me before getting in on the drivers side.

I could get used to this.

"Did you have a good time?" Brian asked as we pulled out.

"Fantastic," I said laying my head on the head rest, "You?"

He turned and looked at me.

"This was the best night of my life."


	18. Yes M'am Drill Sergeant

**Author's Note: Hi, remember me? I am painfully aware just how much editing this story needs. It's chapter 18 and we finally got to move-ins? This story needs to move a little faster.**

**I posted a poll in the author's profile. Check it out.**

**And to all those who reviewed, thank you so much! Keep it coming!**

**And a huge thanks to Courtney for the title and all the editing.**

The week after prom was the biggest blur of school work, AP exams, practicing, and packing. Brian, Em, and I had decided to spend our last night together (possibly with Sammy) sprawled out on the floor of Brian's garage eating pizza and playing Monopoly of all things. I was so excited, but I was also dreading it. We had compared tour schedules as soon as we got them and it looked like we wouldn't get to see a whole lot of each other. We were supposed to be at only four or five of the same shows. After tonight, I wasn't going to be seeing them very often. I was going to miss them so, so much.

I was starting to get a little choked up as I waited outside the William's. It occurred to me that I had picked the wrong night to randomly wear mascara.

"Hey," Brian said as he answered the door, phone in hand, "What do you want on your pizza?"

"Do you have to ask?" I said, trying to wipe the tears from my eyes as stepped in side.

Brian rolled his eyes.

"And sausage," he said into the phone. Brian hated sausage pizza.

Nothing had been quite the same between Brian and me since prom. Something had changed, although I couldn't exactly put my finger on it. He looked at me differently. Something always change whenever I walked by him. It wasn't a major change, just something in his eyes changed. I didn't get it; I didn't like him and he didn't like me, so why did I go crazy every time I looked into those emerald eyes?

I followed Brian through the halls and into the garage where Em was setting up the board.

"No Sammy?" I asked as I searched the garage.

"Couldn't make it. He had to finish some homework. I'm going to duck out early so I can go see him before tomorrow."

"Yea, I'm going to have to leave early too. My flight's at eight."

"Wow, you got screwed over."

"Tell me about it."

"Have you finished packing?" Brian asked.

"Almost there. I've got a couple more things to find when I get home. What about you?"

"Haven't even started."

"Are you kidding me?" I said, "It took me the entire weekend to pack. Leave it to you to wait until the last minute."

"It won't take that long," Brian scoffed, "Men pack faster than women. Women fold everything and trying to make it look all nice. Men throw everything in a bag and hope it fits."

"Speak for yourself. You've never seen my dad's suitcase."

"Hey," Em yelled, "are you two going to sit and argue all night or are we going to play?"

There was a mysterious sparkle in Brian's emerald eyes.

"We're playing."

We spent the rest of the night playing an endless game that no one really won. Em had to leave before we could end it, and Brian and I decided we didn't want to finish it all by ourselves. So we just sat, watching TV and talking, trying to put off saying good-bye a little longer. Eventually, though, time ran out and I had to go home.

Brian walked me out to my car.

"I guess this is good-bye," he said quietly.

"Not for that long. We'll see each other at graduation. It's only three weeks."

"Yea," he said with a faraway look in his eyes, "but what about after that?"

"We'll worry about 'after that' when 'after that' gets here," I said for more calmly than I felt.

"It's just…"

"Just what?" I asked.

"Nothing. I'll miss you."

Brian came over and rapped me in a tight hug before I got into my car and left.

God, I thought as I drove away, I'm going to miss him.

I woke up long before the alarm rang on the first day of move-ins. I couldn't believe that it was actually the first day of move-ins. I was so excited to _finally_ really start life as a Dragon. Marching corps had been my dream for the past four years and today I was going to start living it.

Even though it was long before breakfast, I got up and started getting dressed. I pulled out a pair of black shorts and my green trumpet shirt from junior year. I put my brown hair up into a sloppy ponytail and then put that under my DCI baseball hat my parents bought me as a going away present. I figured since I was in Boston, it was probably unsafe to wear my beloved Colts hat. I might be killed, or at the very least charged with public indecency.

_Real funny, Kiwi._

Hey, it was worth a shot.

I laid back on down on my bed, unsure whether it was too early to head over to the dinning hall. At the "behave or get sent home speech" last night, our fearless leader Beth had explained that breakfast would start at seven.

I looked at my watch.

Six o'clock. I was going to have to kill some time.

Yesterday had been the official "move-in" day. We had all settled into the dorms of Boston College, which were going to become our homes for the next three weeks. The campus, I had learned, was confusing, but the dorms were nice. My roommate was Nicole, the recently named quad section leader (although, technically, they all played quints). I had learned from band camp in high school to never room with another member of your section (you saw your section enough as is). We in rooms of two, and every two rooms were connected by a bathroom and shower. I was super excited about this. When we went to band camp at home, we went to Miami University (in Ohio, not Florida) which had communal showers. (One hundred girls, twelve showers. You tell me). One shower between four people was going to be a huge improvement.

I turned over to Nicole, who was still asleep. I was too excited to go back to bed, so I pulled out my iPod was stared at the ceiling a little longer.

As I let my mind wander, I thought back to what had happened yesterday…

My entire family (even Mark) had awoke early the next morning to wish me good-bye. I kept telling myself not get emotional; I will see them again in three weeks. I tried to ignore the fact that after that, I wouldn't see them for three months.

My dad packed the car and drove me to the airport. It was better than my mom driving me, because that probably would have ended in a huge argument. My mother was 'letting' me march corps, but had made it perfectly clear these past few weeks that she didn't want me to.

My dad and I didn't say much on the ride down. I couldn't stop fidgeting for the life of me. I kept messing with my hair, pulling on my shirt, playing with the radio. I guess it was nervous energy. Excited nervous energy.

It was my fifth time through the radio station before my dad finally speaks.

"Stop," he said, "I want to hear this song."

_She's gotta do what she's gotta do  
And I've gotta like it or not  
She's got dreams too big for this town  
And she needs to give 'em a shot  
Whatever they are_

It was Billy Ray Cyrus's "Ready, Set, Don't Go". It was his solo version, not the one with his daughter. I was very confused. My dad doesn't exactly like country music.

_She's at the startin' line of the rest of her life  
As ready as she's ever been  
Got the hunger and the stars in her eyes  
The prize is hers to win  
She's waitin' on my blessings before she hits that  
open road  
Baby get ready  
Get set  
Don't go_

All of the sudden, my eyes started brimming with tears. I finally realize why he wanted to hear the song. I had been so busy fighting with my mom that I hadn't even thought about how my dad must feet about me running of to corps.

This song was telling me exactly that.

"I'll miss you, Dad."

"I'll miss you too," he says while the tears roll down his face.

Finally, the alarm rang.

I made my way to the dinning hall and through the breakfast line. Today breakfast was scrambled eggs and bacon. Or at least, that's what the sign claimed. The plate of food they handed me neither looked nor smelled (and, as I would find out later, nor tasted) like either bacon or scrambled eggs. After last night's dinner (some spaghetti look alike) and this, I had very low expectations for the food here at BC.

I found a seat between my section mate, Christine, and my section leader, Jules. Section leaders and sergeants had been named at the April rehearsal camp, and to no one surprise, Julie was named not only trumpet section leader, but one of the horn sergeants as well. The other horn sergeant, Mildred (unfortunate name), was the tuba section leader. Her nickname "Big Red" did not come from the fact that she liked the gum or because her name sucked (well, maybe a little of that), but because she was huge. She had to be at least a full inch taller than Brian. She stood heads above everyone in the brass and was the most intimidating person that ever walked the face of this earth. I guess you had to be when you marched two years with nine guys in the Crossmen.

Red and Jules weren't the only two that had marched a different corps before The Dragons. While no one was completely sure, Beth estimated that a little less that fifty percent of the girls had marched in another corps before joining The Dragons. That was crazy. I would have never guessed that so many would be willing to leave their own successful corps to come into some brand new corps that no one knew the fate of. We were talented sure, but the likelihood of a first year Div. I corps making finals: zero to none. Still, I was grateful for each of these members. I was glad that someone knew how this whole thing worked, because I sure didn't.

Jules, Christine, and I made small talk during breakfast. We were all excited for the first day of move-ins and for the start of tour. None of us knew exactly what was about to happen (although Jules probably had the best idea), but we were eager to find out.

I looked at my watch.

Quarter to eight. Time to go run.

I pitched the last of my breakfast and headed out the door.

A few minutes later, the rest of the corps and Janice, our beloved visual tech and assistant director, were standing outside with me, also looking tired (it was early) but excited.

"Good morning ladies!" Janice said, "This is pretty simple. I run, you fallow. Keep up the best you can. I don't care if you listen to music or talk, just pay attention."

This has going to look ridiculous, I thought, one hundred fifty-five girls running around the BC campus at eight in the morning. I can't imagine the stares we're going to get.

Janice took off and we followed. I was silently thanking Mark ten minutes in after we hit the first series of small hills. He knew what he was doing. The week before I left, my time was 24:14. I had made it under twenty-five minutes and it was paying off. People were starting to drop out after twenty minutes, but I was still feeling pretty good.

Now I couldn't say that I still felt that good an hour later when we returned back to the dorm. However, my breakfast had remained digested and I didn't think I was about to pass out. Compared to some others, I was doing pretty well.

"Very nice ladies," Janice said, "Now grab your stuff, drink a ton of water, and head over to the field for Dragons' Drill 101."

I leaned over, trying to catch by breath.

I said I was doing well. I don't know if I was doing "ready to learn drill" well.

I stood up. It looked like I didn't have a choice.

I grabbed my stuff, filled my water bottle, and head over to the giant grass field.

"Everyone is responsible for having their own drill charts. That why we asked you to bring binders." Beth said. Janice had disappeared and our wonderful director was now giving us the standard drill speech I had gotten for the past four years.

I looked up from the piece of grass I was playing with. I felt like this lecture couldn't have been going any slower. Everyone here already knew how to read drill. Couldn't we get on to learning it?

"Okay everyone, your section leaders have your drill charts. So, get to it!"

Get to what, I thought. While I was off in my own little world, apparently Beth had said something important. I was going to have to figure it out on the fly.

I walked up to Jules.

"Here you are," she said handing me the charts, "You are no longer Kiwi, you are now T15."

I laughed. I knew from my experience at CHS that when learning drill, no one had a name. We all had to go by drill numbers, since that was the only thing that the staff would have to go on for the first few days.

I fallowed the rest of my section out on to the field and into my opening dot. I sat down and started filling out my dot book. The Dragons had the same drill writer as my high school (Mike Gains!). As I flipped through the drill charts I realized the drill was a lot like high school.

Except there were a lot more sets. And it was harder. Much, much, much harder.

I feverishly wrote in dots and waited for Beth to start rehearsal. There were forty sets in the opener _alone._ And the drill was insane. Looking at it made my head spin. It was hard to fallow my little dot from page to page.

"Everybody up," Beth said from the top of the tower, "and find your next dot."

I walked over to my dot nearly two yard lines away.

The first few sets the brass and percussion were in circles and the guard was spread out (we were the fire and the guard was standing outside it. Hence the theme: Standing Outside the Fire). I looked back to my first dot. It was going to be a hard run to get from there to here in sixteen counts. Not to mention trying to play at the same time at 180 beats per minute.

"Okay and everyone reset."

I silently went back to my original dot.

"All right," Beth boomed from the tower, "Everyone this is an eight count set."

Eight counts? Did I hear here correctly?

"5,6,5,6,7,8!"

I frantically started running towards my set. I didn't even come close to making it.

"Reset!"

What? I didn't even have time to try and figure out how far off I was. But nevertheless, I jogged back to my set.

The metronome blared and I tried again to make it to my set. And yet again, I failed.

After resetting and missing my dot three more times, one of the techs down on the field finally realized something was wrong.

"Are you having trouble?" a tech that I had never seen before asked.

_No, I just decided not to hit my dot._

I handed her my drill charts.

"I don't think we've met yet. I'm Britney, and I'm a brass tech," she said, paging through the drill charts.

"Kiwi," I said quietly.

"And what's your number?"

"T15."

She looked at the drill, looked at the field, looked at me, and looked back at the field.

"Well, Kiwi, I think Mike Gains hates you."

Fantastic.


	19. Wipe Out

**Author's Note: Hooray for snow days! More time to write!**

**I posted a new drabble called Start (it's number 14). It is the prologue of an idea I'm playing with called On Final Time. It would be the story of Kiwi, Em, and Brian's senior year told through all of their perspectives, kind of like La Petit Chien's To March. There are some questions at the bottom (of the drabble) that I really, really need you all to answer. It would be great if you could go check it out.**

**That's all for now. You know the drill. Leave some. Let's see if we can get to fifty.**

Drill did not improve as the morning went on. It seemed that in a past life I must have angered Mr. Gains because my drill sucked, and we were only up to the trumpet feature (my saving grace). I wasn't sure how I was going to manage the rest of the opener, let alone an entire show.

I spent lunch staring at my drill charts trying to figure out exactly how this was going to work. There was no way I could cover that much distance in eight counts.

"You know, that drill is not going to change no matter how long you stare at it. It would probably be more productive to eat. You don't pass out later."

I stuck my tongue out at Nicole.

"Fine, fine, fine," I said, "Have it your way."

Nicole sat down across from me.

"This is some crazy drill."

"You're preaching to the choir. I'm the one you ran over. I don't even want to see what will happen when you have you drums on."

"Most likely, it will hurt worse."

"No shit," I said looking her straight in the eye.

We both burst out laughing at the exact same time. Since auditions, Nicole and I had become fairly close.

Blond hair, green eyed Nicole was something of an anomaly. On the surface, she was blatantly sarcastic and straightforward. But when you looked a little deeper, Nicole was an entirely different person. She read _The Three Musketeers_ for enjoyment and considered _The Scarlett Letter _to be one of the greatest books ever written. She got a perfect score on her verbal SAT. She liked philosophy and we had spent several meal breaks during various rehearsal camps discussing the state of humanity (actually, it was more of a one sided conversation. She talked, I listened). She was the opposite of me. She was emotionally driven and passionate, while I was more logical and level-headed. Maybe that's why we had become such good friends. We balanced each other perfectly.

I put my drill charts away and started eating.

"Are we in sectionals this afternoon?"

"I know the drumline is in subs" Nicole said, "so I'm guessing you guys are probably in sectionals."

"Your first sub! What are you going to make your section do?"

"Run the opener about a million times. We have yet to make it through without scraping."

I had no idea what "scraping" was so I just sat there and nodded. I did not speak fluent drummer yet, but with Nicole as my roommate, I might by the end of the season.

"Nervous?" I asked.

"Are you kidding me? I was captain last year. I ran my whole freakin' line. I think I can handle running a sub."

I cocked my head. I knew Nicole too well to believe this.

"Yes, I'm terrified."

I laughed and looked at my watch. It was time to go.

Nicole and I pitched the rest of our lunch and headed outside to the music building. The nice part about having move-ins in May was the weather. There was no humidity and the temperature was near perfect. I stopped in the middle of the field and took a minute to soak it in. I knew I would miss this when we were in Texas (July 23. Was there a worse possible time?).

"Kiwi, are you coming to practice or not?"

"Yea."

As Nicole had predicted, we spent the afternoon in sectionals. It was a welcome change from drill. No one was running over me and I wasn't trying to keep dots straight. All I had to do was mark time and play, two things I knew I could do. We spent a fair amount of time on the feature (which was sounding pretty good, if I do say so myself), and then we ran the ballot. The ballot was turning out to be pretty kick ass. It started with a sweet trumpet solo, then moved into an entire brass chorus, and then ended with a trumpet trio like nothing I had ever heard. I couldn't wait to see it on the field. Everyone knew the opening solo would go to Jules, but the other two spots were still up for grabs. I didn't want one (although it would be a nice break from drill if this kept up), but I was curious to see who it would go to.

"It doesn't sound bad," Jules said, after running the ballot, "but I feel like you could give me more emotion. We're all girls, we all get emotional. When I hear this part, I should feel like I'm watching Extreme Makeover: Home Audition."

We all laughed.

"See, when I tried use that metaphor last year, they all stared at me. Guys just don't get this stuff."

I was not surprised. I would have never used that analogy at CHS.

Jules pulled out her cell.

"Run this one more," she said, "and then we're all at dinner."

Dinner was actually quite enjoyable. First off, tonight's dinner was pizza and it actually tasted like pizza. Not good pizza, but pizza nonetheless. And second, I sat with Nicole, the rest of the quad line, and a cymbal player named Lindsey. Together, we formed a rather… interesting table. Don't get me wrong, it was a fun table, but we were an odd group. The quad line spent dinner loudly cracking jokes at anyone's (and I do mean anyone) expense. While I did not partake in the joke fest (I can't think that fast on my feet), I thought they were very funny and laughed until my stomach hurt. Lindsey did not seem to find them as humorous. The entire meal she sat silently, staring at us with huge eyes and looking like she was about to burst in tears. While I felt bad for her, I was very confused. She was in the battery. By now, she probably knew what the quad girls were like. If they scared her so much, why did she choose to sit with them?

I was really starting to enjoy myself when my dinner was interrupted.

"Kiwi?"

It was Britney, the tech that had informed me of Mr. Gains's dislike of me earlier that morning.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked. After a good sectional and a good dinner, I was in a much better mood than I was during drill.

"Would you mind working on drill for a couple minutes? I just don't want you to get run over by a quad."

Even though I had only met Britney twice, I could already tell she was one of those almost sickly-sweet people that lived in constant fear of making someone mad.

"Yea, sure," I said, "When? Tonight? Tomorrow?"

"Um, would right now be okay? It shouldn't take that long."

"Sure." I had to agree with Britney. Getting run over by Nicole did not sound like any fun. There would be more time to hang out with the quads later (Nicole was my roommate after all).

Britney smiled gratefully and we headed out to the field.

"Maybe if you face the dot and take a little bit bigger steps, you'll be able to make it."

I was set up in my opening dot and hoping that this would work. Unfortunately, we hadn't been able to figure out exactly how to make this work. Still with every attempted, I seemed to be getting it a little closer every time.

I turned and waited for Britney to start clapping. She did and… aha! I made it. I was still at least a full step off, but for now it should at least prevent Nicole from running over me.

"Finally!" I said. This was starting to get old.

Britney laughed.

"Beth discussed having everyone start backfield. I'll talk to her about doing that tonight."

Britney headed over to the tower and I headed over to my horn. By now, most of the corps was on the field getting ready for a tough evening block. I did not want to be late.

We set up in a circle to stretched, and then had a very long (and unpleasant) basics block. My energy was almost gone by the end and we still had nearly four hours of rehearsal left.

Finally, we were released for water break. I was grateful for a chance to drink some water and to just not hold up my horn. However, it seemed as soon as I made it to the side line, we were being called back.

Arg.

I grabbed a quick swig of water and headed out to the field.

"Everyone set up at the top of the show," the voice of God (a.k.a. Beth) boomed from the tower.

We did as we were instructed and Beth made the slight change of having the brass face back field (Hallelujah!). We broke the opener down set by set for a while, and then ran the whole thing start to finish. The backfield change proved to be very helpful. I didn't hit Nicole (or anyone else for that matter) once. I was super excited.

Granted we weren't playing.

Around ten (at least, I think it was ten. I lost track of time. All I knew was that it was dark) we started playing. We broke it down set by set. I was fine. We ran chucks. I was fine. Then we did an end of the day run.

That was when all hell broke loose.

It started off just like all the other reps. The metronome went off, we all turned back field, and I went into a mad sprint towards my set. And then I was looking up at the sky.

I guess I somehow missed the giant tenor drum coming right at me.

I hit Nicole.

Actually, I was more like trampled by Nicole.

I don't know how long I was down for. Not that long, because I managed to somehow get up and finish the rest of the show. Still, it hurt like hell. In four years of marching band, I had been hit by a mello, a trumpet, a trombone, and a cymbal, and I can honestly say that nothing compares to being nailed by a quad.

"Are you okay?" Nicole asked as soon as the run was over.

"I'm fine. Nothing's broken. I might have the imprint of a quad in my back until I'm thirty-five, but I'll be okay."

Of course, this set Nicole into a state of horror and she apologized about a hundred times.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. It was like no one was there and then all of the sudden BOOM! I hit you. I'm so sorry."

"Nicole," I told her, "It's fine. It's probably my fault anyways."

By now there was a crowd of people who had seen my epic wipe-out gathering around us now, including Britney. Apparently, everyone had seen it, and if you hadn't seen it, someone had told you about.

"That was impressive," Britney said.

"Thank you," I said doing a fake curtsy, "At this rate, you might even get a repeat performance tomorrow."

"God, I hope not," Nicole said.

"I wouldn't sweet it. Beth saw your little spill and said she's going to call Mike and see if he can makes some changes. We can't have our quads repeatedly wiping out our brass."

Even Beth saw my fiasco. What a great way to start off move-ins. Still, if I had to be slightly embarrassed in order to get this fixed, I was all for it.

Nicole poked me in the shoulder.

"Hey, looks like they're calling us in for a meeting."

I made my way over to the fifty, grateful for the end of this exhausting day.

An hour later, I was back in the dorm with an ice pack on back and sitting in front of Nicole's laptop. She had announced that it was a communal computer, so I decided that I would be the first of the community to use it. The two people we shared the shower with had called first dibs on the shower, meaning that Nicole and I had to wait. Nicole barely made it two step in the room before grabbing her sticks and pad and heading over to Danielle's room for a quad sectional (I swear, drummer can't ever handle not having sticks in their hands). I was too exhausted and soar to even think about going anywhere, so I was now alone and waiting for the shower to open up. I grabbed the computer to see if anyone at home was online.

After figuring out the basics of Nicole's Mac, I signed on to AIM to check on my former band-mates at home. Unfortunately, anyone who was on had an away message up, so I was lonely yet again.

Not wanting to sit doing nothing, I taped out a quick e-mail to Brian.

_To: tromboneman4435_

_From: brasschick252_

_Brian,_

_You need to change your screen name. You haven't touched a trombone since, what? Grand Nats? I know you hate the baritone, but I think you're going to have to give. Trombone man isn't cutting it anymore :-D _

_The first day of move-ins has been pretty exciting. I was trampled by a quad player tonight during evening block. Apparently, I angered Mike Gains in past life and he is now out to get me. _

_Well, Nicole just walked in the room and judging by the look on her face, I think she wants her computer back. I will talk to you soon. Tell Em I say hi._

I contemplated typing "I miss you" at the end, but I thought that would be weird considering I had just seen him two nights ago (though it seemed so much longer). So instead, I gave my usual closing.

_The one and only,_

_Kiwi_

I looked up at Nicole glaring at me and then handed the computer back to her. Apparently I missed the part about asking permission first. I put the computer back, grabbed my stuff and went in search of some Tylenol for my poor bruised body.


End file.
